^\rethusa Hall 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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ARETHUSA HALL 
a jBemorial 



Arethusa Hall 



a jHemortal 



PRIVATELY PRINTED FOR THE FAMILY 



AND EDITED BY 



FRANCIS ELLINGWOOD ABBOT 



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CAMBRIDGE 

JOHN WILSON AND SON 
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Copyright, 1892, 
By Francis Ellingwood Abbot. 



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Page 

Acrostic to Miss Hall 8 

Autobiography 9 

Extracts from Note-Books and Private Journals .... 75 

Correspondence on Christianity , 87 

Essay on "Home and Social Life" 105 

Foundation of " The Arethusa Hall Lectureship " at 

Akeley Institute . 127 

Eriiiutes from iFrtentisi. 

From John Greenleap Whittier 133 

Theodore D. Weld 134 

Margabet Woods Lawrence . 134 

Frances Hall Beach 142 

Sarah Walter Hallock 146 

Anna Olcott Commelin , 149 

Alice Butler Cary 153 

C. D. Morgan . 154 

Irene A. Woodbridge 154 

Nina Judd 155 

Francis E. AbbOt 155 



Acrostic to |$ltss l^all. 

Written by a Young Lady at Brooklyn Heights Seminars 



Mark you that lady who, with gracious air, 
Instructs tlie young committed to her care ? 
See how, by Jirmness and benignity, 
She brings all hearts to oiim her sovereignty. 

Happy indeed are those who travel on, 
Attaining knowledge with her benison! 
Love guides her action, duty points the way 
Long may she live to exercise her sway! 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 



Northampton, Mass., June 27, 1875. 
To Mr. Francis E. Abbot : 

You ask me, mj dear friend, to write for you the story of my 
life. The kindness with wliich you responded to my anxious 
questionings while I was yet a stranger to you ; the great service 
you have rendered to me in advancing into the " Liberty and 
Light " of a religion free from all fetters of creed and superstition, 
and founded upon what we can learn, through science, of the 
inmost nature of things, that Eternal Rock, that surest foun- 
dation, reliance upon which gives the serene trust that, come what 
may, all is well ; the personal friendship which has been confirmed 
by being for months admitted into the sanctities of your own 
family, and sharing in the kindly sympathy, the trustful confi- 
dence, and all the varying phases of daily life, — all these con- 
siderations assure me of your sincere interest in what concerns 
me, and dispose me to impart unreservedly to you the prominent 
circumstances of my life, from my earliest days till now. This 
history will give you very little of incident, nothing of romance. 
Naturally cautious, diffident, and self-distrustful, T have held 
back from those impulsive actions and bold advances which give 
strongly contrasted lights and shades to personal history. But, 
pent up within, they have all been there, — the more intense. 



10 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

perhaps, from the suppression. This inner life, which is indeed the 
only true life, it will be well-nigh impossible to portray. And, 
really, 1 have very little confidence in my power of so drawing the 
picture that it will be satisfactory to myself as a true transcript, or 
otherwise than tame to you in its delineations. As I have often 
told you, although I think you have never been able fully to under- 
stand it, I feel almost constantly a stricture upon the front brain, 
a sense of confusion, a sort of paralysis of mental power which 
prevents the marshalling of ideas which I know I have alive in 
the background, and incapacitates expression by withholding the 
power of calling up the right words. With this physical infirmity, 
added to the natural result of my count of years, the power of 
memory to retain and recall is greatly weakened. So I find it 
necessary to exercise all the "grace" and philosophy I can com- 
mand to be reconciled to, or contend with, my condition. My 
sketch may be merely a random one, instead of an artistic whole, 
— a poem, as I should like to make it, if 1 had the power. 

Well, then, to begin. My first breath was inhaled from the 
pure air of the hills of Norwich, Massachusetts, since called 
Huntington. This was on the thirteenth of October, 1802. That 
region is to me a beautiful one. All the towns around are com- 
posed of hills, thrown up in a variety of forms, often with deep 
gorges between them. Their elevations afford extensive views. 
The sun-risings and sun-settings are from distant horizons ; the 
play of light and shade upon the hill-sides, in varying sunshine 
and cloud, with the green, quiet vales and hamlets between, 
together with here and there a rippling brook or larger stream ; 
bowlders scattered here and there, and rocky ledges cropping out 
at intervals, — all these features render the landscape impressively 
picturesque. A purer atmosphere nowhere exists. I always feci 
its life-giving influence, if breathed only for a day. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 11 

Hither my father, Aaron Hall, came from New Braintree, 
Mass., somewhere about his fortieth year, and commenced a 
farmer's life upon a poor, stony, unproductive farm. At the time 
the War of the Revolution commenced, he was a member of Har- 
vard College. He enlisted in the army, and served, mostly as 
quartermaster's clerk, for seven years. We can well understand, 
in these days, the position of young men who have spent in war 
some of their best years for preparation for business. My father 
was paid for his services only in Continental money, from wliich he 
never realized anything. His father had been a man of property, 
but, dying at middle age, an elder brother of my father invested 
it in his own business, and it was all lost to the other heirs. As 
my father had made some progress in his education, he betook 
himself to school-keeping, which employment he continued, in 
different towns in Worcester County, with good success for those 
days, until the time of his going on to his farm in Norwich. He 
was known as " Master Hall " in that region, and was warmly 
greeted by that title in after years whenever he appeared there. 
At the time of commencing farm life, he had lost his first wife, 
who left him one infant child, now Mrs. Apphia H. Judd, of this 
place, and motlier of the late Eev. Sylvester Juddj_ of Augusta, 
Maine. He had recently married my mother, then less than half 
his age, who was a daughter of John Richardson, of Templeton, 
— one of the brave men who fought on Bunker Hill, a hundred 
years ago. 

Being better educated than most of the men in the compara- 
tively new town to which he liad gone, my father at different 
times held the offices of town-clerk, selectman, justice of the 
peace, and representative to the " General Court " of Boston. He 
was a man of the most perfect morality in all respects, though not 
a member of any church until after eighty years of age, and not 
what was called " pious." His intellect was not above that of the 



12 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

average of men, but he was always fond of reading, and had for 
that time and place quite a little collection of books. 

My mother was a woman of superior intellect, but she had had 
no opportunities for education. She belonged to a strong-minded 
family, people of native good sense and of clear, intuitive per- 
ceptions. Her father was a stern freethinker. She learned 
more from observation and deduction from her own reflections 
than the most of women derive from the best advantages of the 
schools. Ardent in her feelings and religious in her nature, in 
mature life she embraced the Calvinistic religion, — the best 
known to her. But she was entirely free from superstition, and 
carried her religion into all the affairs and relations of life. She 
was highly genial in her nature, was fond of interchange of 
thought upon the highest themes, was hospitable, benevolent, 
kind, and patient. She was a woman of remarkable strength of 
body, of unflagging resolution and untiring activity ; and all 
these qualities were surely needed for the performance of all the 
duties that fell to her lot. Besides the care of her nine children, 
the preparing for them food and clothing, there was, in addition 
to the usual housework, the making of butter and cheese, the 
" dipping" of candles, the combing of liax, the spinning and weav- 
ing of linen, cotton, and woollen, the bleaching of linens, and the 
dyeing of woollens, — in all which operations she had great skill, 
and the results of which were of the most satisfactory order. And 
then, after the day's work had been performed in the most thor- 
ough and cheerful manner, though lasting often until late in the 
evening, before going to her rest she would often spend an hour 
in the quietness of midnight, when all her household were asleep, 
in prayer, in meditation, or in reading the Bible, Flavel, Bunyan, 
or such other religious books as she might have. Too soon for 
those closely connected with her, a fatal disease took her from 
them in her forty-ninth year. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 13 

Into such a home, amid such domestic circumstances and sur- 
rounded by all the varying operations of farm-life, was I born. 
Among my earliest recollections was the going to the country 
school, about a mile distant, and standing by the side of the good- 
natured " school-ma'am " and learning my letters from the point 
of her scissors, which were attached to a chain fastened by a hook 
to her belt, greatly to my wonder and admiration. There were 
a wood and a brook near by, where, at recess, I used to go and 
make cups from leaves, with which to dip up and drink the cool 
water. There seemed an air of mystery, and something of a sense 
of the Infinite, in all the new places I visited, away from the 
immediate home surroundings. One of my enjoyments in going 
to and from school was to run barefoot (for shoes and stockings 
were a superfluity in those young days) upon a long stretch of 
nice level stone wall, which my father had laid with his own 
hands as fencing for his land, and as the best way of disposing 
of the great quantity of stones which everywhere abounded. 

With so many children to be cared for, to each one was assigned 
a portion of the domestic "chores" as early as she was able to 
perform them. I was the seventh child, all my predecessors being 
girls, except the second one. Two had died before my advent. 
The girls, therefore, had to do a good deal of boys' work. Some 
of my earliest tasks were to pick up the nice large chips from the 
wood-yard to keep the pot boiling, — there was no wood-sawing in 
those days. And here I will tell you of the glorious fires my father 
used to make in winter in the great kitchen fireplace, the glow, 
warmth, and illumination of which on a cold winter's evening were 
something splendid and animating to behold. First would come the 
" back-log," two feet in diameter perhaps ; this was surmounted 
by two others of gradually diminishing size ; then came the large 
" fore-stick," with plenty of dry combustibles between it and the 
" back-log," and above it gradually diminishing sticks, until the 



14 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

whole was rounded up into a symmetrical artistic whole. And 
then such grand flames as would roar iip the chimney, and such a 
rich mass of glowing coals as would come at last ! The old " Ice 
King" must have done some of his bitterest "weeping" then, as 
he left " his crystal tears behind." 

Hunting for hen's nests and carrying the eggs in triumph into 
the house was another favorite employment. The use of the little 
" quill-wheel " in forming " quills " for the weaving I early acquired, 
the accomplishment of which was a great and pleasing attainment. 
The mysteries of bucking and bleaching interested me ; and the 
sprinkling, with a watering-pot of lye, of long webs of cloth spread 
out upon the grass was a great pleasure. I think I early had a 
tendency to look into the nature and causes of things. 

Driving the cows to and from the pasture was one of my early 
tasks. This sometimes involved searches in distant woody parts, 
— so far.from home that I used to fear that " bears " or something 
might catch me before I could return. Later I would go to the 
pasture, sometimes with salt in my hand as a lure, to " catch the 
old mare." The good old creature was so gentle that she would 
come up to me, mounted on a high stone or the fence (for I was 
not tall enough to reach her head otherwise), and willingly suffer 
me to capture her with bit and bridle. Then came the great feli- 
city of getting on to her bare back and riding home ! It required 
considerable skill to stick on ; and I remember once, when three 
of us children mounted thus together, that we all slid off on one 
side in a bunch. The good animal, seeming to appreciate the 
situation, stood still, waited until we could pick ourselves up, and 
then suffered us to get on again. Another of my equestrian feats 
was to be set on a bag of corn laid over the saddle, and ride off to 
the grist-mill, some mile distant, up and down the steepest of hills, 
and wait until it was converted into hominy, when the kind old 
miller would set me on the bag again, and I would make my way 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 15 

home. The water coming in a trougli supported high above the 
ground, and pouring down upon the great, slow-moving wheel ; the 
whirl and buzz of the mill-stones ; the misty motion of the flour 
within the long, cylindrical, slowly-turning net-work of the bolter ; 
the old miller, whitened all over, moving amid his machinery, 
and speaking in rather an unfamiliar dialect, — all these things 
awakened my curiosity, and impressed me with a feeling of wonder 
and romance. It surprises me now that such a young thing as I 
then was could have been sent off on such an errand ; and yet 1 
sometimes question whether the helplessness of children in our 
present more refined state of civilization is not a far greater dis- 
advantage to them than the rude experiences of such an early life 
as mine. I learned self-reliance, observation was quickened, and 
the idea of activity as the business of life was cherished. 

In the fall — and often so late that my little fingers would tingle 
with the cold — I helped pick up apples from under the trees 
of the orchard ; and then it was fun to drive the " old mare " 
around the circle as she turned the cider-mill, to hear its squeaking 
sound and that of the crushing of the apples under its ruthless 
action ; but best of all was the ecstasy of sucking through a straw 
the sweet juice as it flowed into the great tub from the press. As 
I look back upon those times, it seems as though it was a wild little 
savage that I am describing ; and yet there is a fascination about 
it that makes me love to linger upon and call up these scenes 
of my childhood with great delight, and I feel that I would not 
exchange them for any others that I can imagine. There was to 
me real romance in it all. 

Then, too, there were the "huskings,"- — jubilant times for all 
concerned ; also the various operations upon the flax as taken from 
the field, — such as " breaking," " swindling," " hatchelling," etc., 
— and the threshing of grain. All these I liked to see as I stood 
by and watched my father's motions ; especially did the " winnow. 



16 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

ing " process please me, as, raising a half bushel of grain high 
above his head, he would slowly pour it out in a strong wind, 
which blew the chaff away, the clear wheat falling in a beautiful 
curve upon the white sheet laid out for it below. The barn, with 
all its nooks and corners and hiding-pl-aces, was a favorite resort 
for play. One great feat was to climb upon the highest beam 
and jump down into the hay-mow, — greatly at the risk of our 
necks, it seems to me now. I well remember the sensation, — the 
shudder in going down, down so far, and the sense of relief on 
being softly received by the elastic hay. 

As years went on I learned to card tow and spin it, and also to 
spin cotton and wool, — tasks not unpleasant to me, in which I came 
to be quite an adept. The spinning of flax on the " little wheel " 
I never attained to. Sewing my mother taught me to do very 
neatly. What few books I could get at I liked to read. There 
was a Bible, of course, which I more than once read through, in 
my conscientious reverence being particular to read not only the 
headings of the chapters, but the heads over the separate columns, 
some of which I remember I did by the job for a number of pages 
at a time, so as to be sure that nothing was omitted. There was 
somebody's " Token for Children " that I used to con over and 
over, showing how good children would be saved, and bad ones 
would be punished frightfully forever. I think I tried hard to be 
good ; but 1 often used to keep awake as long as I could, lest my 
nightly hymn, " If I should die before I wake," should prove true, 
and I should go to misery. Like Dr. Gannett, I studied " Emer- 
son's Catechism," and was duly impressed by the illustrating pic- 
tures at the head of each column. The Sabbath seemed a hallowed 
day, with its stillness and cessation of business. Our house 
stood on elevated ground, then came a sort of gorge, and the 
church stood in full view on an elevation beyond. I recollect how 
solemnly the sound of the cock-crowings coming through the still 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 17 

air from " meeting-house hill " fell upon my ear of an early Sabbath 
morning. There was a sort of awe in it as a call to worship such 
as no bell ever had to me. Carriages there were none. All went 
to " meeting " on horseback, the father in front, the mother with 
baby in arms on a pillion behind, and the other children walking 
after. We used to go barefoot, carrying our stockings and shoes 
in our hands till we got near the church, and then, putting them 
on fresh and clean, walk into church, — the reverse process of 
olden time, when sandals were put off on entering holy ground ; 
and then to hear the loud, sonorous tones of the great red-faced 
minister re-echoed through the open windows of summer from a 
wood in the rear and from the great sounding-board impending 
over his head, as from Sabbath to Sabbath he rolled out the words, 
" Say to the south. Give up, and to the north. Keep not back ; 
bring thy sons from far, and thy daughters from the ends of the 
earth." The mere sound of this, which certainly impressed me 
with solemnity, is all that I remember of the ministrations to my 
childhood, — unless I may add the occasional pastoral visits of the 
minister, for whom I had sucli fear that I used to run and hide as 
quickly as possible whenever I saw him coming. Demonstrations 
of affection, I think, were not common among country people at 
that time. I do not remember my mother's ever kissing me (she 
died when I was in my fifteenth year) ; neither do I remember 
receiving that expression of fondness from my father, or from 
brother or sister, till well advanced in mature life ; and I do not 
recollect witnessing anything of the kind in other families. 



18 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 



Life in Westhampton. 

July 4, 1875, — I do not recollect any observance of this anni- 
versary during my childhood, neitlier of New Year's day. Christ- 
mas I never heard of until I was quite a large girl ; the name 
" holiday " was unknown to me. The Puritanical element was in 
force, and recreation was not recognized. Birthdays were not ob- 
served ; Thanksgiving was the only festival of the year. 

My oldest sister, Mrs. Judd, was married soon after I entered 
my ninth year. Her husband, Sylvester Judd, resided in the ad- 
joining town of Westhampton, and that place became her home- 
The next year, a child having come to them, and my sister needing 
help in the care of the baby, — the full complement of my mother's 
children having been made up, so that I could well be spared from 
the number at home, — I went to live with this sister. And I 
may here say that, from this time until after the birth of the seventh 
of her eight children, my constant home was with her ; and my 
employment was largely the care of the children, from their ear- 
liest age to their older years, taking the previous one to wean as 
a new one was promised. I was fond of the children, and did not 
feel it a great task, though sometimes my heart failed me at the 
prospect of a new one to add to my confinement with them. But 
the care of the children was by no means my only work. My sis- 
ter kept no " help," and the entire labor of the whole house was 
done by us two, not even a day's work being hired for sewing or 
any other purpose ; and in addition to all the rest spinning was 
often done. Ladies nowadays may well wonder, in their helpless- 
ness, how it was all accomplished ; but done it was, and well done, 
the children of the house being kept neat and tidy, and the 
" ladies " of the house, as a general thing, were ready to sit down 
neatly dressed in the afternoons. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 19 

Witli all the rest, in my earliest years in Westhampton I went 
to the public school a portion of the year. But the only thing I 
learned was how to spell ; this I did well, according to the old Web- 
ster's Spelling-Book, — reading was mere jabbering, writing was 
sufficiently rude, and arithmetic of no value. This was all that I 
had any opportunity for until about fifteen years of age, wl)en a 
young student of Amherst College came to Westhampton and 
taught a private school for one quarter. This it was my joy to at- 
tend, and I believe I acquired more in that three months than the 
most of young ladies of to-day do in a whole year, — not because 
our inexperienced, dyspeptic teacher was skilled in his work, but 
because I applied all my energies to the improvement of such a 
rare and valuable opportunity. To do so, I had to make great 
efforts, for all the work of the family must be carried on as usual. 
I rose early and sat up late to gain time for school and its 
studies, often helping to carry through the washing in the evening, 
and hanging out the clothes under the cold midnight stars of win- 
ter. All too soon, with sorrow and weeping, came the last day of 
my school. 

But, fortunately, I always had at home an instructor and stimu- 
lator in the pursuit of knowledge, in the person of my kind and 
noble brother-in-law. He himself was an untiring student, and 
had been from his sixteenth year. Having no opportunities for a 
school education better than those I have described for myself, he 
was entirely self-taught. By himself alone he had made good 
proficiency in Latin and French, and some progress in Greek and 
Spanish. He had made advances in the higher mathematics, had 
read history quite extensively, and was acquainted with the political 
conditions of the day. He was highly genial in his nature, had 
the highest sense of right as applied to each and all, in the kind- 
liness of his nature was ready to impart to the utmost of whatever 
he had, was social in disposition, interesting and attractive in con- 



20 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

versation, and al)onnding in good humor. To me, little girl as 
I was when I went into his family, he was as kind as a father, 
and, as years went on, he became teacher, brother, and almost 
more than friend to me. He early impressed me with the idea that 
the cultivation of mind, the acquisition of knowledge, was of more 
worth than anything else. Though having small returns from a 
little country store, he invested all he could save from necessary 
expenses in books, including many of reference, besides those of 
poetry, history, travel, etc. These he encouraged me to read, and 
he led me to commence the study of French vs^ith him. So, at 
intervals in the day-time, when it was my business to keep the 
baby asleep, I would rock the cradle with my foot, apply my 
fingers to the knitting of a child's stocking, and, with the book 
open before me, study my lesson. Winter evenings, prolonged till 
late, afforded a good deal of time for books ; but my special enjoy- 
ment was on summer evenings, in my pleasant chamber alone, 
with no one to interrupt as long as I chose to sit with my books — 
Milton, Cowper, and Thomson, perhaps — at my little unpainted 
table, by the light of a tallow-candle. My sister was kind, and as 
indulgent to me as she could be, and I think I generally performed 
my duties faithfully to her, though sometimes I stole away for other 
enjoyments, perhaps, when I should have been aiding her. She 
was never very strong, and her cares and labors were always so 
great as to leave her no time or energy for intellectual pursuits, 
so that, in this department, she could not enjoy that companion- 
ship with her husband that she might have done under other 
circumstances. 

The general atmosphere of social life here was more intelligent 
and refined than that of Norwich. Ministers' sons were more dis- 
tinguished from otliers in those days than they are now. My 
brother-in-law's father was the son of the minister of South- 
ampton, and the "doctor was son of the Rev. Mr. Hooker, of 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 21 

Northampton. Then there was the minister of tlie place, Rev. 
Enoch Hale, grandfather of E. E. Hale. He and his good lady, 
together with the other families referred to, did much to elevate 
the general tone of the people. There was also more communica- 
tion with Northampton, where resided many families of the old- 
fashioned aristocracy. A considerable number of young men were 
educated at college. All these circumstances had their influence 
upon me, and I felt it to be quite a change from my home in 
Norwich. . . . 

I pity myself, in looking back through the long vista of my 
religious history, that I was born into, and so long continued under, 
the influence of ideas which now seem to me more benighted, and 
far less conducive to the well-being of humanity, than those of some 
of the so-called pagan religions. I believe, from my early years, 
I was imbued with the principles of a simple Natural Religion. I 
remember, when quite young, receiving impressions of awe and 
reverence from the various manifestations in nature. Among my 
readings, after the " Token for Children " age, I chanced upon 
" The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain," and the simple trust and 
beautiful spirit of the good old man found a full response in my 
own heart, and made a deeper and more lasting impression upon 
me tlian Bible or anything else I remember to have read in my 
young years. I recall now the glow of harmony and love that 
permeated my soul, and made me feel at one with the nature of 
things and with all human beings. Not that I then understood or 
analyzed my feelings as I do now. But, alas ! then, as almost 
always, and even to this day, it has not been my good fortune to be 
in the midst of those who could understand, take interest in, or 
respond to that which to me is noblest and most highly prized. 
Could this have been so, my whole life and character would have 
been greatly modified. Reference to the reading of this little story 
brings up to me vividly the place. I was alone, on a hot afternoon. 



22 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

seated under the slope of the roof, in the open, unfinished chamber 
of the one-story liouse where we children slept, an immense 
chimney serving to divide it, in a measure, into two parts. Tlie 
roof was low, and not always in good repair, and often, through its 
openings, the bright stars of night would peer in upon me ; some- 
times the rain would trickle down and wet my pillow while I 
slept ; and of stormy winter mornings I would find, on waking, 
graceful little piles of snow adorning my coverlet. This was at my 
father's house in Norwich. 

As I have said, at the time of my unhappy experience in West- 
hampton my first and most natural impulse was to turn to religion 
for solace. But I must first " get religion." This, of course, must 
be a most painful and difficult process. But I was willing to make 
the sacrifice for the reward. 1 read the Bible, I prayed earnestly 
for deep " conviction of sin " and a " new heart," — terms the 
meaning of which I could never fully comprehend. But the 
greatest " cross I took up " was to go of an afternoon, in broad 
daylight, to an old people's prayer-meeting, at a considerable dis- 
tance from my home, where no young people ever went. This was 
indeed a trial ; but, considering it to be to me one of the appointed 
" means of grace," it must be done, and I must allow myself to be 
commented upon as " seeking religion," — a thing, while so highly 
praiseworthy in some of its aspects, not without its humiliating 
mortifications. But of no use to me were the dull, stereotyped 
prayers of the good old men, — very pious in their way and accord- 
ing to their views, I have no doubt. One expression 1 have always 
remembered, as having the right ring in it, was, " We thank thee, 
Lord, that it is as well with us as it is." One, a good old deacon, 
used to say there was always a time to go to meeting rainy Sab- 
bath days without getting wet, if people were only disposed to go. 
He verily believed that " Providence " interfered to this effect. 
Although I received no help whatever from these meetings, my 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 23 

• 

conscience was satisfied that 1 had done my duty. I said nothing 
to any one, and no one, I think, suspected what was passing within 
me. But I continued to agonize and pray and make myself as 
wretched as I could until nature could no longer bear the strain in 
tliat direction, and then came the natural reaction, — a sense of 
relief, even a jubilant state of feeling. All nature seemed to me 
clothed in new beauty, and my spirit went forth in love and joy 
towards all. But it was entirely foundationless, the result of 
emotion merely, with no life-sustaining principle to rest upon. Its 
continuance was brief, and, like all relapses, the state that followed 
was worse than the previous one. 

In the mean time my mother had died, and I had become more 
than ever identified with the family of my sister, Mrs. Judd. 
Several years passed along, with the same confinement to the care 
of children and other duties, till about my nineteenth year, when, 
longing for change, I spent six months in visiting my father's and 
mother's relations in Templeton, Petersham, Rutland, and other 
towns in Worcester County. I had scarcely been outside of the 
towns of Norwich and Westhampton before, and this was a new 
and pleasant experience, which served in a measure to divert my 
interests into new channels, though without permanent effects. 

On my return to Westhampton I found my brother-in-law, Mr. 
Judd, was about to remove his family to Northampton. His busi- 
ness in Westhampton had been the keeping of a little country 
store, which, besides being entirely uncongenial to his tastes, 
scarcely afforded support to his growing family. His brother, 
Hophni Judd, had been educated at Williams College, and had 
afterwards established himself in law in Northampton, and, to- 
gether with Hon. Isaac C. Bates, had become one of the proprietors 
of the " Hampshire Gazette," — the first established paper in old 
Hampshire County before its division. Much beloved and regretted, 
this promising young man (betrothed to a daughter of Judge Hen- 



24 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

shaw, afterwards wife of Professor Beck, of Cambridge) was taken 
from his friends, and my brother Mr. Judd, became proprietor 
and editor of the paper. 



Life in Northampton. 

The change to this new residence was in 1822. Mr. Judd's 
position as editor of the " Gazette," a paper to which he gave a 
higher character than it ever had had before, introduced him and 
his family to the best society of the town. The old aristocratic 
culture had not then, as since, been supplanted by a generation 
whose tastes are rather for business and money-making than for 
refinement and intellectual development. ... I therefore formed 
the resolution of fitting myself for a teacher ; but how it was to be 
done, I could not well see. . . . 

Westfield Academy. 

I at length saw my way clear to gratify my, at that time, high- 
est ambition, — that of entering Westfield Academy in the autumn 
of 1823. This was then the best institution of the kind within 
my reach. But how meagre were its advantages, compared with 
those of the present day ! The teachers were recent graduates, un- 
skilled in teaching, and resorting to it only temporarily. But I 
was only too happy to find myself under an academic roof. I 
studied to the utmost of my ability, though I did not at all know 
how to study, and 1 had little or no guidance or help from my 
teachers. I boarded in a kind and cultivated family ; I formed 
many pleasant acquaintances with the young gentlemen and ladies 
of the school. The cultivated society of the town treated the 
students with great hospitality and attention, and everything com- 
bined to make time pass happily. A year soon passed, and my 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 25 

funds were exhausted. T must now fall back upon myself, and not 
only earn ray own support, but repay what I had borrowed. My 
teachers gave me the best of recommendations, and they with 
other friends promised all the aid in their power in getting me a 
situation to teach. But all in vain. The first question asked was, 
" Has she had experience ? " And the negative of this barred all 
positions against me. Thus a year and a half passed on. This 
time was spent most restlessly. I divided it among the families of 
my married, brothers and sisters, rendering them such services, in 
various ways, as I was able. I did not return for permanence to 
my sister, Mrs. Judd. Yet her liouse has ever since been a home 
to resort to, and to this day is my headquarters. 

Greenland, New Hampshire. 

Here was my first attempt at teaching, in the spring of 1826. 
An academy was about to be opened under the general supervision 
of the clergyman of the place, Eev. (Ephraim, I think) Abbot. I 
well remember my feelings on starting off. It was a great joy to 
me, after so long waiting, to have a situation open before me. It 
was before the time of railroads. It seems now as though I was 
going back to an antediluvian period, and that some other per- 
son than myself must have been the actor. To get from here 
to Boston, it was necessary to take the stage at midnight and 
ride till the next evening. To enter it in the darkness, and 
become wedged in with unknown people, required no little 
courage. Then would come the dawning morning light, and 
the looking around at the dimly nodding heads and the strange 
faces that had been the night's companions. The long jolting and 
tossing ride, often with closed curtains and the accompaniment of 
stage-sickness, was wearisome, and sometimes almost insupport- 
able, though sometimes agreeable company would be fallen in with, 

4 



26 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

which would relieve the tedium of the journey. An instance of 
this kind occurred on my way from Boston to Portsmouth. Hon. 
Ichabod Bartlett, member of Congress from New Hampshire, was 
on his way from Washington to his home in Portsmouth. There 
he boarded at the same house with my friend from Westhampton 
who had procured for me the place at Greenland. Finding I was 
destined to the same house with himself, and that we had a friend 
in common, Mr. Bartlett took me under his protection ; and as my 
friend happened to be out of town on my arrival, he took a car- 
riage and drove me out to Greenland to the house of Mr. Abbot, 
where I was to board. On his return he very much amused my 
friend by describing the reception I met with. Mrs. Abbot was a 
well-educated lady, but of the most icy manners of any person I 
ever met with. She knew who I was, and I was expected ; but, as. 
Mr. Bartlett described it, she appeared at the door herself, but 
opened it only on a crack, as it were, and it was rather by pushing 
and crowding that he got an entrance for me. As may well be 
supposed, I felt desolate indeed on being left a stranger under 
these circumstances. The next day or two, my two Portsmouth 
friends drove out to see how I survived the rudeness of the first 
encounter. 

I was quite reassured when I came to see Mr. Abbot, who was 
an unusually kind and fatherly man, an entire contrast in manners 
to his wife. Tlie natural scenery of the place was pleasant, the 
air seemed salubrious, and I entered upon my duties in the new 
institution with enthusiasm. But I soon painfully found how im- 
perfect were my qualifications. To supply my deficiencies, I 
studied by myself out of school to prepare to meet my classes, — a 
course I pursued through all my teaching. I believe I went through 
my engagement quite respectably, but, for various reasons, it was 
not renewed for the next year. But I had had experience^ and 
from that time, through the whole of my teaching, I never had 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 27 

occasion to apply for a situation, but applications came to me, 
more than I could attend to. I was fairly launched on my career 
as a teacher. 

Portsmouth. 

On leaving Greenland I went to Portsmouth, where I had occa- 
sionally visited, intending to start from there for home. But my 
friend, who was at the head of a large school of young ladies, per- 
suaded me to remain there, and prepare myself for teaching French 
by taking lessons of the accomplished French teacher of his school. 

This was a delightful change to me. I had the good fortune to 
board in one of the best old families in the city, that of Nathaniel 
Adams, Esq. This had always been a most hospitable mansion, — 
" the house appointed for all living," as some one facetiousl} 
applied the passage of " Holy Writ." Mr. Adams was rather old 
and infirm, and had become reduced in property. For many years 
he had been clerk of the courts for the State. He was a man of taste 
and literary culture, was witty, gallant, and fond of society. In 
Portsmouth, at that time, there was a fine circle of cultivated people 
of the old-school manners and way of life. Mr. Adams had been 
in the habit of entertaining members of the Bar at his house, among 
whom was Daniel Webster. His wife, Grace, visited there when I 
was in the family. I remember Mr. Adams, in his gallant way, 
complimenting her, as they walked in the garden, with those lines 
of Milton descriptive of Eve : — 

" Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye. 
In every gesture dignity and love." 

General Scott and his wife, in the prime of their elegance of person 
and manner, I once dined with at General Upham's, a relative of 
the family, who entertained many military and naval officers. 
Jeremiah Mason, Dr. Burroughs, of the Episcopal Chufch, and Dr. 



28 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

Parker, of the Unitarian Church, the British consul, and many 
other people of the like class, I met. This refinement and cultiva- 
tion was quite congenial to my tastes and aspirations. . . . 
The ladies of the family were Mrs. Adams and three interesting 
daughters. They had never had a boarder before, but Mrs, Adams 
was originally from Hatfield, and she knew a good deal about 
Northampton, and for that reason they were induced to receive me. 
They took me into the bosom of their family as one of themselves, 
and showed me great kindness every way. With Mr. Adams I was 
rather a pet, as in his infirm condition he was glad to derive enter- 
tainment from any source. It was a new life to me, and a most 
happy one, affording me facilities for development in a way that I 
needed. I wondered at their generosity in treating with so much 
attention one so awkward and so little accustomed to the amenities 
of polite society as I was. My warm fi^iendship with the family 
was never interrupted, but continued through their lives. It is 
many years now since they all passed away. Mr. Adams was one 
of the pillars in Dr. Burroughs' church, and a most thorough 
Episcopalian, The church then was of the high English order. The 
service was all new to me. I chose to go with the family, and Mr, 
Adams took great pains to instruct me in the significance of the 
forms and ceremonies of the Church, — with him " The Church" 
-par eminence. I came to enjoy the services highly. The prayers 
seemed grand and appropriate, in comparison with the extempo- 
raneous and incoherent utterances I had been accustomed to, and 
the assthetic elements were attractive. In place of the severity of 
Calvinistic dogma, I found more practical morality, not only in the 
church services, but in the daily intercourse of life. I have never 
to this day quite lost a susceptibility to the devotional influences I 
received from their ritual and ceremonies, and I sometimes now 
like to give myself up with perfect abandonment to the service of 
a Catholic church, where all the elements of the kind are carried 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 29 

out in their fullest perfection. What is this tendency to bow down 
in worship and adoration of the Unknown ? Is it merely from ig- 
norance and superstition ? Is it, or not, a necessary element 
entering into the idea of religion ? 

Haverhill. 

I remained in Portsmouth until the spring of 1827, when I ac- 
cepted an invitation to take charge of the female department of an 
academy in Haverhill, Mass., which was at that time first opened. 
I boarded in the family of Mrs. Atwood, the mother of one of the 
first missionaries to India, Mrs. Harriet Newell, whose " Memoirs " 
I had read with great admiration, and whose enthusiasm and self- 
consecration had excited in me a like zeal to devote myself to the 
sacred work of converting the heathen of foreign lands. The place 
where she was born, where she had lived, and from which she liad 
gone forth to die, a martyr to her devotion to the cause of Christ, 
seemed to me almost holy ground. Mrs. Atwood and the two 
daughters who were with her were lovely in character, cultivated in 
intellect, and refined in taste and manners. The house was a place 
of resort for Andover theological students, a sort of ministers' 
home. Another young lady of the family was Miss Catherine Hills, 
of Bangor, who became the most dearly loved friend I ever had. 
She was beautiful in person, her mind was of a superior order, 
and she had great powers of conversation and was highly enter- 
taining by her ready wit, as well as her seriousness and good sense. 
The moral elements of her character were of the most elevated 
order. Conscientious and truthful in the highest degree, she pos- 
sessed that rare ingenuousness which made her fair alike to the ex- 
cellencies and defects of her own character, as well as to those of 
others. Her discrimination was clear, and she was free from pre- 
judices. She would be sure to discover, and give all due credit to. 



30 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

the good in those whose bad qualities rendered them justly repre- 
hensible. Her nature was rationally religious, but she had been 
educated in the severity of Calvinism, and her struggles against 
nature to become what that required of her were truly pathetic. 
As a friend, she made the interests of her friends her own, and, in 
her large-heartedness, she was not limited to one or two alone, but 
took in a large number, each of whom, in her breadth of compre- 
hension, she could understand and have close fellowship with. 
Her sympathy was of the deepest, tenderest nature, often revealing 
itself in tones so melting as to call forth unbidden tears. She was 
ever constant, ever ready to respond to the advances of others, 
would even meet them more than half way. And yet, with all this 
abounding tenderness and sympathy, there was mingled no weak- 
ness. She was always firm and strong, even in intricacies and 
trials that penetrated to her very heart's core. From the time I 
first knew her, I had her entire trust and confidence, and there 
never came between us the least shade to darken our friendship. 

The year after we first met, she was married to Bev. John 
Crosby, a man of a lovely nature, something after the Potter 
pattern, who settled in Castine, Me. In time, a precious boy was 
born to them, who drew from the depths of the mother's heart all 
that devoted love which might be expected from a nature like 
hers. I spent a winter most delightfully with them in Castine 
while this child was an infant. But sorrow soon came to them. 
Mr. Crosby's health failed, and they went to Barbadoes for the 
benefit of milder air, where he died in May, 1833. The lives of 
the two had been one in love and in interest from their earliest 
years, and this separation was like dividing soul from body. My 
friend had inherited consumptive tendencies, and the disease 
now claimed her for its prey. Alone, desolate, and obliged to 
seek warmer air every winter, through the entire devotion of 
one who had been an admiring friend of herself and husband. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 31 

togetlier with the urgency of some friends, she was induced to 
marry again. But all means for the recovery of health proved 
unavailing. January, 1837, was the last of earth for her. It 
was my privilege and joy to be at her bedside the last three 
months of her life, and to i^eceive her last breath. Tender and 
firm, loving and great-souled was she, to the last moment. Her 
imagination, which was always active and vivid, dwelling upon 
what she had been led to receive as the truths of religion, ren- 
dered her death triumphant. The invisible to other eyes seemed 
open to hers, and, the glories of a spiritual state of existence seem- 
ing to beckon her on, she entered it with joy. 

But does not Free Religion require a higher faith even than 
this, — an entire self-abnegation, a trustful committal to the bosom 
of the Infinite, a belief that, let what may follow the last con- 
scious thought in the body, the order of the Universal in Nature 
is perfect, and all is well? 

I cannot describe the sense of bereavement, of desolation, that 
attended me for months, and even years. There are in woman's 
nature, when fully developed, certain masculine elements, as into 
the highest type of man there must enter the feminine. It seems 
to me that in the ideal perfect man and perfect woman there 
must be the same elements, only in different combinations and 
proportions. But we do not often find such instances, and woman 
generally has to seek entirely in man what is wanting in her own 
sex, and the same with man. I have never known a woman in 
whom the two elements were so harmoniously and beautifully 
blended as in my Catherine. With her, I could be well-nigh 
satisfied without that love which grows out of the higher elements 
of man's nature. And so, in losing her, I was doubly thrown 
back into the isolation of my own soul. 

I will finish this episode by saying how widely separated were 
the graves of those once so closely united. Barbadoes liolds the 



32 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

dust of my valued friend Mr. Crosby, Bangor that of my dear 
Catherine ; Mr. Chamberlain, the second husband, was drowned 
in the Danube and buried upon its banks a year or two after 
the death of his wife ; the precious boy, while yet young, found 
his grave on the shores of Hindostan, whither he had sailed for 
health, and a daughter of the second marriage, in her young years 
a prey to her mother's fatal disease, found her final resting-place 
in Vermont. And thus, in a comparatively brief period, passed 
away every vestige of that circle that had filled so large a place in 
my heart. 

But to go back to my life in Haverhill. 

New York, Feb. 13, 1876. — For six months of two years I had 
charge of the female department of the academy, this depart- 
ment being closed in winter. The first year was one of constant 
delight to me. The family I was in, with all its associations and 
the visitors drawn to it, together with the hospitable society of the 
town, was most pleasant to me. 1 was in daily and most intimate 
intercourse with my dear new-found friend. The young gentle- 
man who had charge of the male department of the academy was 
kind and agreeable, the school was pleasant, and my teachings 
and influence seemed satisfactory to the founders of this new 
institution. Pleasant parties were frequent. Often, in company 
with my associate i]i teaching, I had the most charming horseback 
rides, on a little white horse whose motions were almost as gentle 
as those of a rocking-chair, over hills, around ponds, and crossing 
rivers, — the whole constituting a picturesque panorama. And 
so, like one long, beautiful summer's day, passed the first period 
of six months. The following winter I passed with my relatives 
in Northampton and its vicinity. 

The next spring, that of 1828, came. I returned to the scene 
of my former enjoyments, but all was changed. My dear friend 
Catherine had returned to her home in Bangor, and in the course 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 33 

of the summer was married, and entered upon the duties of a 
minister's wife in Castine. The two daughters of Mrs. Atwood 
were married, and, with their mother, left the place, so that my 
pleasant home there, with all the interesting people which it 
attracted, was broken up. Some other things conspired to make 
my situation quite uncomfortable. Yet I labored on as best I 
could, under a great weight of depression, until the close of the 
session, engaging to return the next spring. 

Boston. 

Mr. Eobert Willis, whose wife was a daughter of Mrs. Atwood, 
and who resided in Sudbury Street, Boston, invited me to make 
my home in his family the succeeding winter, and give private 
instruction to his daughter, now Mrs. George Washington Warren, 
of Boston. This invitation I accepted, and it resulted in my hav- 
ing a little school of girls through the winter. My time passed 
very pleasantly. Mrs. Willis was one of the kindest and most 
amiable of women, possessing a good degree of literary culture, 
as well as being one of the nicest of housekeepers. Mr. Willis 
was a man of exceedingly crude manners and an avowed infidel, 
— a terrible thing for those days. But he had a penetrating mind, 
a very kind heart, and the highest moral integrity. This was the 
time when Dr. Beecher was at his height of popularity in Boston. 
We all attended his church, Mr. Willis not believing a word 
of his doctrines, but, as he said, enjoying his arguments and 
logic. And how the Doctor did thunder and pound away, lift- 
ing up his glasses and putting them down again every other min- 
ute ! A prominent object of attack that winter was the theatre. 
I remember liis saying at one time, when the price of admission 
had been reduced : " Now the way to hell is cheap, you can go 
at half-price ! " His preaching had very little effect upon me, save 

6 



34 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

that of a pleasant entertainment ; though in one instance, at a 
communion season, I was shocked by seeing him stand, with the 
cup held high in hand, and hearing him call out in stentorian 
tones, '■'• Blood ! blood! shed for you!'''' But still I was so much 
fettered by a sense of duty to Calvinistic ideas that I steadfastly 
refused Mr. Willis's urgent invitations to go to the theatre with 
him, although dramatic performances were always in a high degree 
attractive to me. This was a pastime that Mr. Willis often 
indulged in alone by himself, as his wife and daughter did not 
think it right to accompany him. And yet his wife was most 
scrupulously attentive to his comfort and happiness in every way, 
while he often said jocosely that, as " she thought he would have 
no happiness but in this world, she would do all she could for 
him here." 

Saco, Maine. 

While in Boston I had an application to take charge of a school 
for young ladies in Saco. Although I had engaged to return to 
Haverhill, there were some reasons why I preferred not to be there 
again. I therefore asked and obtained a release from my engage- 
ment, and commenced my school in Saco in the spring of 1829. 
Here I found very little that was congenial in the way of society ; 
but the school was a pleasant one. 

Thrown upon myself and my own resources, feeling alone, and 
from a variety of causes greatly depressed in spirits, I again turned 
to " religion " for help. I set about writing a journal, by means 
of which I endeavored to anatomize my heart, — to search out its 
sinfulness, and by agonizing effort to obtain the peace and rest of 
the true " Christian." Many and many are the earnest prayers 
recorded. The great difficulty was to attain to that feeling to- 
wards "the Saviour" which was considered necessary. I never 
did get it. Whether from having it dinned in my ears from the 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 35 

earliest times, so that I became obtuse to the influence, or not, I do 
not know ; but I must say that to this day I never have had that 
admiration and reverence for Jesus that I have had for Buddha, 
Socrates, and some persons even of the present day. But I was at 
length able to satisfy the scruples of my own mind and the require- 
ments of the church so far as to be received into its communion. 
My public profession of " faith and covenant " before " God, angels, 
and men," as the phraseology ran, was in January, 1830. The eat- 
ing of the bread and drinking of the wine was a great disappoint- 
ment to me. I had expected an undefinable mystical effect, and the 
sensation of the bread between my teeth was anything but spiritual. 
However, I had committed myself, and 1 endeavored to live up 
most faithfully to the requirements of my profession. In one point 
which now occurs to me I failed, in the estimation of some of the 
members of the church, and that was in attending the ordination 
of the minister of the Unitarian Church ; it was in a measure in- 
dorsing the dangerous sentiments of the sect, and setting a bad 
example ! A part of that winter I spent with my friends the 
Crosbys in Castine. Mr. Crosby's orthodoxy was of a much milder 
type, and his own nature was so beautiful as to do away with any 
severe elements of his creed. On returning to Saco I boarded in 
the family of the minister, and improved the opportunity his 
library afforded in reading up "Bodies of Divinity." I went 
through with Dwight's " Theology," Edwards " On Redemption " 
and " On the Will," etc., and followed up the controversy that was 
then going on between "Taylorism" and " Tylorism," in which 
Drs. Woods, Stuart, and other prominent theologians took part. 
In n:iy early days in Westhampton I had read with fear and trem- 
bling Stoddard " On Judgment," Baxter's " Call to the Uncon- 
verted " and " Saints' Rest," several volumes of sermons, and 
Law's " Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life," etc. The emo- 
tional and mystical character of this last work I found much more 



36 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

congenial with my natural instincts tlian the fearful appeals of the 
others. I could readily yield to the attractive force of love, while 
threats and appeals to fear were rather lost upon me. Feeling it 
my duty to read the Bible, to pray in my school, and to make 
efforts for the religious improvement of my pupils, I did so. I 
think I went very much upon the principle of trying " to perfect 
myself." The doctrines and the religious observances were very 
little to me, though I endeavored to keep in the traces, supposing 
no other religion to be the true one than that in which I had been 
educated ; and I really attained to great peace of spirit. The right 
and the good seemed to me beautiful for its own sake, although 
among my Christian friends it was considered heterodox to affirm 
that " holiness " could be loved for its own sake, since the heart 
of man naturally loved evil best ; but I came to have such faith in 
the Divine order of things that I became completely optimistic, and 
almost indifferent as to what came, believing all to be for the best. 
The attraction of the right seemed to me so all-controlling that I 
could not conceive how any one having a clear perception of it 
could be even tempted to the wrong. In this experience lies per- 
haps the foundation of my theory, that what is called sin is igno- 
rance, short-sightedness ; that with a clear vision, at the moment of 
the act of evil, of its destructive, suicidal character in the natu?'e of 
things irrevocably established, it would be impossible to do the 
wrong. The perception may be just before the final act, but at the 
moment there is illusion, there is insanity, and the evil is conceived 
as good ; so that the safeguards lie in watching and controlling 
the incipient stages. There is where lies the power, and there is 
where lies the guilt, provided the danger is seen and known. 

With an interval of the winter months, I continued my scliool 
in Saco until the close of 1831. On taking a journey in tlie stage 
the previous spring, when the roads were in an exceedingly bad 
state, by the violent pitching of the carriage I received an injury, 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 37 

from the latent effects of which, as I believe, I was prostrated for 
several weeks ; the results upon my health and nervous system 
were most seriously felt for a dozen or more years, and indeed its 
undermining influence on my naturally strong constitution has 
never been recovered from. After this time I was never able to 
go on with teaching continuously until the beginning of 1849, 
when I became connected with schools in Brooklyn, N. Y. But 
constantly feeling the necessity of providing for my own wants, 
after seasons of rest for a year or so among my friends, weak and 
unfit as I was, I would answer to some call, and for a year or two 
take the responsibility of some academy for young ladies, and con- 
tinue as long as, and even longer than, my strength would hold 
out ; for during this whole period I was too unwell to take any 
charge upon myself, and, in a condition in which most persons 
would have been in bed, requiring attendance, I kept up, and went 
on simply by power of will. The result of my condition was that I 
was obliged to make many changes and to reside for a limited 
time in a variety of places, but always in the New England States, 
and always having charge of a department of young ladies. With- 
out going into all the details of this long, miserable period, I will 
note some of its most prominent incidents and circumstances. 
As a whole, it may be characterized as a sort of death-in-life 
period, — physical strength refusing to sustain moral and intellec- 
tual aspiration, the power of will, once so strong, almost obliter- 
ated, a depression of spirits, a sense of desolation and aloneness, 
brooding like an incubus over my whole being. How I survived 
it is more than I can how well comprehend. If it were now in 
prospect, I don't see how I could have the courage to live. And 
yet there were now and then some bright and pleasant features of 
my experience ; and there was a very slow but gradual develop- 
ment of my nature towards more enlightened views and higher 
aims. There was this gain, at least, that I learned to sympathize 



38 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

in the very depths of suffering of body, mind, and heart, and to 
have an understanding sense of the pangs and struggles endured 
and encountered by others ; and I have often felt that, for the sake 
of this power which brought me more into kinship witli liumanity 
and attracted me to the alleviation of the griefs of others, I would 
willingly endure all I had suffered. And so the law of compensa- 
tion seems beautiful in its adjustments. 

1832-1840. 

In 1833 I had charge of an academy at Newton Centre, since 
become a public school, I believe. The clergyman who had mar- 
ried one of the Atwoods was settled there, and it was pleasant to 
be near his family. My deeply afflicted friend Catherine, whose 
husband died in Barbadoes in May of this year, made me a visit 
there. It was the joy of grief to have her with me. The care of 
girls, day and night, in a boarding-house, together with instruction 
six hours a day, was more than I could sustain for a longer time 
than six months. 

In Westhampton, the home of my girlhood, in which I had re- 
latives, and with which I always kept up connections, was a clergy- 
man and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Chapin, who were very good friends 
of mine. He was a man of most genial and imaginative nature, 
and he wrote some fine poetry of quite a unique character. Con- 
trary to all his natural instincts for fun, and wide latitude in con- 
versation and action, he was most rigidly Orthodox in his faith. . . . 
I often spent weeks at their house, and for some months, in 1834, 
at their request, made my home with them, and gave instruction 
to a school of young ladies gathered from their parish. 

The female department of Uxbridge Academy, together with 
the boarding-house, I had in charge, with the exception of the 
winter months, during 1835 and 1836. I had two pleasant ladies 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 39 

associated with me, and the two gentlemen at the head of the 
youno- men's department were very agreeable in every way. 
Charles C. Jewett, the principal, afterwards professor in Brown 
University, assistant librarian in the Smithsonian Institution, and 
finally Superintendent of the Public Library, Boston, had recently 
graduated, at about the age of eighteen. He was one of those pre- 
cocious, mature persons who are rarely met with. While yet so 
young, there seemed to be hardly any subject on which he had not 
some information. We ladies used to apply to him the couplet : 

" And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew 
That one small head could carry all he knew." 

His kindliness and friendliness was not exceeded by his intelli- 
gence, and up to the time of his sudden and lamented death, some 
half a dozen years since, I always found him, though I might not 
have seen him or heard from him for years, the same kind, genial 
friend, as though it were but a yesterday that we parted. There 
seemed to be no limit to his knowledge of books, and I believe his 
system of cataloguing libraries has been highly esteemed. 

While in Uxbridge I committed the great folly, in addition to 
all my necessary cares and duties, and the necessity of making 
much preparation privately for my instructions in school (always 
six hours a day), of giving private lessons in French to these two 
young gentlemen and a few others, forming a class, and, in return 
from Mr. Jewett, commencing the study of Latin. My brain had 
not yet felt the general debility of my physical system ; but under 
so great a pressure it gave way, consciously, at a certain midnight 
hour, after long-concentrated attention to a given subject. It was a 
sin of ignorance, for I had never had my attention called to the 
science of physiology or to the laws of health, and I had no idea 
that there was any limit to my power of application. But the conse- 
quences were none the less fatal. It amounted almost to a paraly- 



40 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

sis of the brain, and for a year or two after this I could not so 
much as look into a newspaper without pain, and to have it sug- 
gested to me to read a hook was almost agonizing. After feeling 
obliged to yield to this incapacity for a long time, I came to the 
conclusion that I should never again be able to use my mind if I 
did not force upon it some application ; and so, little by little, by 
dint of perseverance, I began slowly to recuperate. But never, to 
this day, have I recovered from the injury, although, for the last 
year or two, I have been rather more in my normal condition. . . . 
Taking it all in all, no human being has any conception of what I 
have suffered from weakness of body, from a crippled state of 
mind, and from a condition of nerves stung to the quick by antag- 
onism, by unkindness, and by the evidence of unsympathetic con- 
sideration and of unjust judgments. All this experience has tended 
to draw forth my sympathy for others, — suffering in what way 
they may, — has led me to put myself in their position, and to look 
forth from their standpoint. 

My autumn vacation of 1836 I spent with my friend Catherine 
at Castine. She was then very feeble, her fatal disease, which was 
constitutional with her family, and had been overhanging her for 
years^ having left little hope of recovery. But, as was remarked 
by another visitor, her sick chamber was the most lively and 
attractive room in the house. All the elements of her nature rayed 
forth in as much beauty as ever. The only thing to mar the 
delight of my visit was the sad foreshadowing of the loss which 
seemed impending. 

And now, by this date, my dear friend, — ^^if I may imagine that 
in this history you are still listening to me, — I am reminded 
how long my life had been before yours began. I believe I felt 
older then than I do now. I don't know how it is, but I have for 
a long time been more attracted to the generations below me than 
to those of my own time. My tendency, I believe, is to keep up 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 41 

with the age, if not to go before it, while with most of my con- 
temporaries it seems to be to stand still, if not to fall back. I see 
no reason why the soul need grow old ; and feeling as I do the 
youth of my spirit, with all its sensibilities and susceptibilities, 1 
wonder, as I look in the glass, that its material clothing should 
have such marks of age. It does not seem as though the two 
belonged in companionship. Is there a life beyond this, of peren- 
nial youth, keeping pace with eternal progress ? In one sense, 
my life seems as but begun, and the history I am writing seems to 
belong to another person. What advents and exits upon this 
planet ! Your star arose as Catherine's set. 

In or about December of the same year, my school having closed 
for the season, at the urgent request of my friend I returned to 
her, and did not leave her bedside, day or night, till the last mo- 
ment came, which was on the 28th of the following January. Her 
mind was strong and clear, her natural playfulness of expression 
showing itself in the midst of suffering, her resignation, faith, and 
trust illuminating the unknown upon which she was entering. 
Indeed, the teachings of her faith and the vividness of her imagin- 
ation converted into tangible realities what lay behind the veil, and 
she passed in triumph from this visible state of being. 

After passing some weeks in Bangor, where the funeral rites 
were performed, I returned to Northampton and spent the rest 
of the year in that place and the vicinity, among my family 
friends. . . . 

This year was one of great trial to me. In my broken state of 
health this loss of the friend who had been so much to me during 
the previous ten years was exceedingly depressing. Then, in addi- 
tion to this, was the altogether unlooked-for revelation of Sylvester 
Judd's change of religious views from Orthodoxy to Unitarianism. 
At that time, among the staid people of Hampshire County, it was 
almost like a change of caste among the Hindoos. I verily think 

6 



42 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

the avowal of infidelity to Orthodox friends, at the present time, 
is not regarded with anything of the horror that Unitarianism was 
at that time. And does not this give evidence of encouraging signs 
of progress in the race ? Sylvester had been particularly interesting 
and dear to me from his earliest years, when I used to tend him 
as a baby. There was an originality, a quickness of perception, a 
facility of acquisition, and an indication of reserved power, which, 
added to a loveliness of nature, especially attracted me to him. 
And now that he had struggled through the difficulties of his col- 
lege course, and was about to enter upon the sacred work of the 
Gospel ministry, all our expections were to be blasted ! I felt 
that I would rather see him dead, so much was I dominated by 
traditional theology. 

At the same time, my deepest sympathies were called forth for 
him. His sufferings from all the painful circumstances attending 
this religious crisis were far greater than those of his friends. But 
convictions of truth and duty were not to be sacrificed to any other 
considerations. In a paper written for his friends, which he la- 
belled " My Cardiagraphy," he set forth in such a clear and pathe- 
tic manner the process of change in his views, the pain it had cost 
him to disappoint his friends, and the heartfelt tenderness and love 
he bore them, that my opposition to the change was quite disarmed, 
and I began to see that Unitarian ideas, of which I had had no 
knowledge before, were, in many respects, consonant with my na- 
tural instincts. This writing of his was followed by another, which 
was published in tract form by the Unitarian Association, giving a 
fuller account of his " Conversion from Calvinism," and serving to 
initiate rae further into liberal views. Through him I began to 
have access to books of a different character from any I had read, 
such as Channing's and Emerson's. In this way, and by means of 
his preaching, on which I frequently attended after he was settled in 
Augusta, the enlightening and liberalizing process commenced in 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 43 

my mind ; though I was often warned by friends, among them the 
good, fatherly Dr. Woods of Andover, to guard against being led 
away from the truth by my sympathies and affections. I remem- 
ber Dr. Storrs, senior, of Braintree, endeavored to repress my ad- 
miration of Socrates, on the ground that it encroached too much 
upon the claims of Jesus. A distressing conflict arose in my mind 
as to what is the truth. Men of great learning differed, and who 
should say what was right ? Miserable years were several at this 
period, entire nervous prostration rendering me incapable of clear 
vision or decisive judgment. I kept mainly on the Orthodox side, 
fearing to depart from it, and thinking it the safer. 

The year 1838 I spent in Hartford, in the family of James W. 
Judd, my sister's oldest son 

In the spring of 1839 I was requested by Miss Grant to take 
charge of her famous school in Ipswich, which she was about to 
leave. I started to go ; but after going on my journey, by stage, 
about ten miles, I found myself so ill that I was obliged to stop, 
and finally to give up the undertaking. A similar project I was 
forced to abandon the year previous for the same reason. With my 
desire for activity, and the pecuniary need of it, these were trials 
almost too great to bear, and my depression of spirits was much of 
the time insupportable. 

lu May of this year I went to Andover, and made a visit of a 
month to my friend Margarette Woods, with whom I had become 
acquainted the year before through my friends the Chapins. She 
was on the eve of her marriage to Rev. E. A. Lawrence, and I stayed 
with her till the ceremony was performed. This opened to me 
quite a new field for acquaintance and observation. The theology of 
the Seminary at this time was not so severe as I had supposed. Dr. 
Woods was lenient in his charity. Professor Stuart was supposed to 
concede too much to liberal criticism, and Professor Park was con- 
sidered somewhat off the true path. Mr. Jewett's paper, however, 



44 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 



at the close of his theological course, setting forth some claims for 
the Koran, could not be read without some erasures and modifi- 
cations. Leonard Woods, junior, was at home and in the height 
of his fine intellectual culture and popularity as a finished speaker. 
Louisa S. Payson, daughter of the celebrated Dr. Payson of Port- 
land, and afterwards wife of Professor Hopkins of Williamstown, was 
an intimate friend of Margarette, and was in Andover several weeks. 
She was at that time distinguished for rare scholarship, though at 
the present time very many ladies are her equals, if not her supe- 
riors, in this respect. A very noted progress in the education, ac- 
quirements, and literary ability of women has been made since that 
time. Then there was only here and there a solitary instance of 
a lady acquainted with the German language, while now almost 
every school-girl studies it. About this period Carlyle's writings 
began to be known here, and. they became a great stimulus to the 
acquisition of knowledge of the German language and literature. 
All persons of much cultivation were eagerly leading Cai'lyle, and 
he undoubtedly had great influence in arousing thought and enlarg- 
ing and liberalizing sentiment, — ■ greater power, I should say, than 
any other man of that day. I read him with the greatest interest ; 
he opened to me a new world of ideas. 

But my visit here was terribly marred by the impaired state of my 
brain. The consciousness that I could not command my intellectual 
power, or do justice to what I considered my best self, was exceed- 
ingly mortifying. But there was this one offset, that I could receive 
valuable impressions, though I had not the power of reproducing 
them. In a " record " made at this time I find the following : " There 
is nothing to me. The mind and power of thought I once had are 
gone. I am ignorant of everything and deficient in everything, — 
2, fool, Qifool! Oh, I am ashamed of my weakness, — I almost hate 
myself. What shall I do ? What shall I do? All is silent. 
I hear no response. I have neglected to draw near to God, and 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 45 

he has withdrawn from me. I feel very little interest in any- 
thing, almost doubt whether I can ever again feel strong emotion. 
I have no one on earth to whom I can perfectly pour forth my soul, 
— cannot expose weakness only to excite pity, perliaps con- 
tempt. And then my long-established habit of locking up all my 
deepest feelings in ray own heart, — how bad it has been for me ! 
I impart sympathy, but receive very little in return. The reason 
is plain. I do not open my heart. Again the question returns, 
What shall I do ? Togo on as for the last years, I cannot. My mind 
is almost frittered away. I do fear it will never regain its tone 
and elasticity. I cannot confine it to anything, and can recall 
nothing of what I have known, — can have no clearness of thought. 
I am in fetters and chains. How shall I break from tliem ? I 
look abroad on Nature's face, and all is beautiful and lovely ; but 
I find no corresponding harmony within. I am blind and deaf, 
and if heaven itself were opened before me, I should shrink back 
from its glories and enjoyments. My oppressed spirit finds no re- 
lief in tears. I have lost communion with God. Heaven, once 
near enough for intercourse, has receded from my view. I am 
perplexed with doubt and uncertainty. The great diversity of re- 
ligious faith, and that, too, with undoubted honesty, shakes mv 
foundations. I find it hard to justify the ways of God to man. 
What is truth? again and again I ask. lam tired of contro- 
versy and theological discussion, though once deeply interested in 
them. The spirit of sect and party I cannot away with, yet how ex- 
tensively it prevails ! Who is free ? Who is not unduly wedded 
to his own peculiar views ? Who is ingenuous, and willing to look 
without bias on the opposite side of a question ? I look at the old 
school and the new, atultraism and conservatism, but I find it not. 
As Leonard Woods says, the world is all out of order, or else I am. 
So says this party, so says that. Where is the unity of truth ? 
Goethe says, ' Our wishes are presentiments of undeveloped capa- 



46 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

bilities, — harbingers of what we shall one day be able to accom- 
plish.' I will remember this, and act upon it." 

But enough of reference to this gloomy period. It stands, how- 
ever, substantially, for the history of a long series of years. 

In finisliing tlie reference to this visit at Dr. Woods's, I would say 
of Margarette Lawrence that, with many peculiarities, she is a wo- 
man of rare intellectual endowments and moral qualities. She has 
always been a close student, not hesitating to grapple with Greek 
and Hebrew, and setting no limits to her field of observation and 
investigation. As a friend she is one of the most faithful and con- 
stant. Through these many years the fidelity of our friendship 
has never been interrupted. 

In the autumn of this year came tidings of the loss of my friend 
Mr. Chamberlain, the husband of my friend Catherine, by the up- 
setting of the boat he was ascending the Danube in, on his home- 
ward way to this country. I had a short time previously received 
a letter from him, saying I should probably see him before hearing 
from him again. And thus passed to the Unknown the last of 
those friends so closely linked together. He was a lawyer, a man 
of fine literary taste and culture, and in character generous and 
honorable. 

1840-1848. 

After spending the summer of 1839 in Northampton, in October 
of that year I went to Plymouth, N. H., to preside over the female 
department of the Teachers' Seminary there, then under the gen- 
eral superintendence of the Rev. S. R. Hall, a distant relative of 
mine, but of whom I had had no previous knowledge, except as 
he was generally known for his efforts in behalf of education. 
Through the introduction of my friend Mr. Jewett to his uncle. 
Rev. George Punchard, then settled in Plymouth, whom I had met 
in Boston and Andover the spring before, I was urged to take upon 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 47 

myself this new charge. I could not, at first, on account of my 
health, give any encouragement. But on the acceptance of my 
proposal, that at my own expense I might take with me two young 
ladies who should assist me in teaching, I having the responsibil- 
ity of it all, I decided to go. 

It was a delightful journey that I and my two friends had, up the 
Connecticut, by stage, from Northampton to some distance above 
Hanover, N. H., and then over the hills eastward to Plymouth. 
The scenery around that town itself is beautiful and animating, 
and the air from its mountains pure and health-giving. Almost 
every Saturday we made an excursion somewhere, accompanied 
by the young gentlemen teachers of the institution. We climbed 
all the mountains in the immediate environs, visited Red Hill, 
which overlooks the beautiful Winnipiseogee, and took the drive 
through the grand Franconia Notch to the Franconia iron mines. 
I seemed to be almost among my native hills, and to be inhaling 
my native mountain air. The effect was stimulating to mind and 
body, and though I have no poetical talent whatever, and could 
never make two lines rhyme, my thoughts and feelings had a great 
tendency to sing themselves in a sort of rhythmic cadence. I 
became better every way than I had been for a long time. With 
the help I had, my school duties were comparatively light, though 
the care of boarding-school girls I could not shake off. 

I had a good deal of time for reading, and more strength for it, 
but I found it necessary to economize my power by selecting 
chiefly books that I could grow upon, — a habit which I have usually 
kept up since. Carlyle introduced me to Goethe, Schiller, Lessing, 
Richter, and other German writers, whose line of thought was 
widely different from wdiat I had been accustomed to in books 
which I had read ; and it was very attractive tome. Wordsworth, 
in the midst of this hill scenery, was delightful to me, and the 
moral influence of his poetry soothing and strengthening. Ma- 



48 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

dame de Stael was then my greatest of women. Mrs. Hemans 
sang sweetly to me. Coleridge's " Aids to Reflection " were help- 
ful. Quaint old George Herbert brought me new relations of 
thought. Longfellow's " Hyperion " and poetry presented fresh- 
ness of thought. 

The young ladies with me entered very much into the same 
literary pursuits with myself. They, with me and Mr. J. G. Hoyt, 
then a teacher in the school, and for many years afterwards pro- 
fessor in Exeter Academy, commenced the study of German, we 
being our own teachers. The Rev. Mr. Punchard was exceedingly 
polite and attentive to us all, and we found him most agreeable. 
Judge Livermore, an old aristocratic Englishman by recent des- 
cent and feeling, and a stern High Churchman, lived a few miles 
from us. He had two daughters of quite an original type and of 
unusual intelligence. With them we frequently interchanged vis- 
its, and were introduced to quite a new phase of life. The family 
had lived rather aloof from other people, had had their own private 
little chapel and rector, and the children had grown up a good deal 
with the feeling that the generality of people were quite a different 
race of beings. But as they had little society, we were received 
to all the amenities of their mansion, with great hospitality and 
kindness. The key-note of our acquaintance was that we read 
Oarlyle. 

Notwithstanding the many pleasant and favorable circumstances 
here, I suffered greatly from weakness and despondency. The 
truth is, I was entirely unnerved, and did not well understand what 
was the matter. I was mortified by, and reproached myself for, 
mental and moral weakness, the origin of which was purely physi- 
cal. The vision of ideal excellence was clear, and its beauty was 
most attractive ; but the physical power necessary to sustain efforts 
for its attainment was wanting. I cannot but think that many 
persons condemn themselves, and are condemned by others, some- 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 49 

times, for moral delinquencies which are attributable to purely 
physical causes, — that crimes, even, maybe committed through a 
sort of mental insanity, for which the actor is not wholly respon- 
sible, and that in such cases pity, restraint, and efforts for mental 
and moral development should be the treatment, and not punish- 
ment. My moral sense in regard to sin and error and crime may 
be considered rather obtuse ; but the weakness I have suffered, and 
the inability to live up to my own standard, has taught me to be 
lenient towards, and to find excuses for, the delinquencies of 
others. Not that I do not often, on the impulse of the moment, 
utter harsh judgments, but calm reflection, settled down upon, 
always leads me to a kindly interpretation. 

I find, from some records kept at this time, that I was in a con- 
stant struggle for religious attainment, — religion as I then under- 
stood it. Much of it was of the purely emotional kind, sometimes 
amounting to a state of ecstasy, followed, of course, by a corre- 
sponding reaction. To be near to God, to feel his presence, to be 
in communion with the Saviour, — this was the great effort, this 
would set all other things right. At the same time there was 
another side to it, the effort to obey the command, " Be ye per- 
fect, even as your Heavenly Father is perfect." 

Partly, I think, from financial troubles of the school, and partly 
from wishing to be free from boarding-house cares, I left Plymouth 
in February, 1841, thinking to return to Northampton. On my 
journey thither by way of Boston I went to Andover to spend a 
week or two with the sister-in-law of Mr. Chamberlain, who had 
adopted the doubly-orphaned little girl of my friend Catherine. 
At this time I had applications to teach in the academies at South 
Berwick, Me., at Derry, N. H., and to open a private school at 
Salem ; but not feeling strong enough to assume any of those re- 
sponsibilities, I accepted the invitation of Mr. T. D. P. Stone, prin 
cipal of the Female Academy in Andover, to teach only forenoons 

7 



50 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

in his school, and to have no other care or confinement. This was 
an arrangement very favorable to the condition I was in. I found 
a home in the pleasant family of Mrs. Brown, her two daughters, 
and her son, afterwards professor in Dartmouth College. The 
family were in social intercourse with the faculty and students 
of the Theological Seminary, a decidedly literary atmosphere was 
felt, and interesting books were to be had. I recollect deriving 
new ideas from Schlegel's Philosophies of Life, of Language, and 
of History. The causes and relations of things were always of 
great interest to my mind. I followed up Carlyle and Emerson, 
and become more acquainted with general literature. There were 
occasional opportunities for attending lectures, — a privilege I had 
never enjoyed before. The poet Richard H. Dana, Sr., gave a 
course which I highly enjoyed. I gave some attention to German 
and Italian, under the direction of teachers, and gave instruction 
in French to a couple of theological students. Want of time and 
of health prevented my making much advancement in the different 
languages that I attempted to study at different times ; but the 
time spent upon them was not lost, as it gave me some insight 
into the philosophy of language in general, and prevented the 
feeling of entire ignorance of the structure and pronunciation of 
foreign tongues. Grammars and dictionaries have been quite 
interesting reading-books to me. 

This year my situation was more consonant with my tastes than 
any one I had occupied before ; relief from care, and harmonious 
surroundings, contributed to a better state of health, and conse- 
quently I had greater mental tranquillity. The action and reaction 
between mind and body is so intimate and so powerful, it is some- 
times difficult to tell which is cause and which is effect. This I 
know, that always since the first general impairing of my health it 
has been most fearfully at the mercy of my feelings, an hour's un- 
happiness often causing physical suffering for days, — a torturing 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 51 

of the nerves which I had no power to resist or overcome except 
by complete diversion from change of scene. Sleep under such 
circumstances would yield to no wooing, but would leave whole 
nights to be passed in misery. 

I tire of this rehearsal of physical and mental suffering, which 
has made up so large a portion of my life ; but it is all true, and 
must enter into a just delineation of my life-story. It is necessary, 
too, to a right interpretation of it, and it shows also how fear- 
ful a thing it is to overtax one's powers of body or mind, or to 
suffer an undue predominance of the emotional nature, — the pen- 
alty for violations of inflexible laws being sure to come. 

I stayed in Andover, with a few temporary absences, till the be- 
ginning of 1844. Some months of the time I was not in school ; 
a part of the time I was in the family of Professor Gray, of the 
English Academy, assisting him in the preparation of a work on 
Natural History. For some months I boarded at the Mansion 
House. . . . 

On my first visit to Andover, in 1839, I had been invited to the 
academy in Gorham, Me., — an invitation which I declined; near 
the close of 1843 it was repeated, and I accepted it, having had 
quite a rest from my teaching in Andover. ... I had the care of 
boarding-scholars and teaching on my hands for the whole of 1844. 
Gorham is a quiet country place, with nothing of particular inter- 
est any way. I just endured through it. The school was large 
and flourishing, with quite a corps of teachers in its two depart- 
ments, and many interesting scholars ; but I could not hold out 
beyond the year. 

After spending some weeks at Sylvester Judd's in Augusta in 
the spring of 1845, I again went to Andover, and remained board- 
ing at the Mansion House till near the close of the year. I was 
quite at leisure, and conceived the idea of making a selection for 
publication of some of the most practical of Pascal's " Thoughts," 



62 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

which I had been reading with a good deal of interest from a 
French copy given me from the Hbrary of ray friend Mr. Crosby. 
Many of these " Thoughts " I had found of value to myself by their 
teachings and suggestions, and I thought they might be so to others. 
In consulting a publisher, he recommended to me — as the old and 
imperfect English translation was out of print, and a new French 
edition, with additions, had recently been issued — to go over the 
whole works, revising the old translation, translating the newly 
added portions, and prefacing the work with a sketch of the author's 
life. This occupied a considerable portion of this period. I think 
I sold the copyright for seventy-five or a hundred dollars. I did 
not expect much remuneration, as it was a work that would have 
only a slow and limited sale. 

On leaving Andover, I spent the first half of tlie year 1846 with 
my friends in Augusta, and the last half with family friends in 
Northampton and its vicinity. I returned to Augusta in Decem- 
ber, and for some months in 1847 I assisted in teaching in the 
academy at that place. Still at Augusta, in the early part of 
1848, I prepared the " Manual of Morals " for publication. From 
my experience in teaching I liad felt the great deficiency in purely 
moral instruction, and the want of a book suited to the use of the 
younger classes. As there were no works on Ethics, except those 
for colleges and academies, which were treated in an abstruse 
manner unfitted for children, I felt prompted to attempt my best 
towards remedying the defect. My little book was a compilation 
in a considerable degree, and I followed in tlie old track of mak- 
ing theology a part of morals ; but in some respects I think I car- 
ried out the principles of ethics into common practical life more 
fully and witli greater directness than had been done before. It 
has long been my conviction that the only hope of the regeneration 
of society lies in thoroughly enlightening and indoctrinating the 
children in the principles of Right Conformity to the Nature of 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 53 

Things, and in showing them that the transgression of natural 
moral laws will just as surely be followed by a penalty, sooner or 
later, to the individual or to the community, as is the violation of 
the most apparent physical law. John P. Jewett undertook the 
pubhcation of this book, and for a year or two his enterprise gave 
it a good sale. Then he took up " Uncle Tom's Cabin," and 
neglected his school-books. The " Manual of Morals " was ap- 
proved by school superintendents and boards of education of many 
of the prominent cities and towns, and entered upon their list of 
books to be used ; but teachers generally did not feel interest enough 
in the subject to put it into the hands of their scholars. Though 
it is still kept in print, it is very little called for. I have received 
only a few hundred dollars from it. 

My health not getting essentially better during these three years 
after leaving Gorham, in the autumn of 1848 I was induced to try 
a course of water-cure treatment. This operated quite favorably, 
and gave me a start on the way of convalescence. 

But these three years were of value to me intellectually. I had 
more leisure for general literature than previously. Novels, poetry, 
history, travels, and biographies, with various miscellaneous works, 
furnished me with interesting and valuable reading. Sylvester 
Judd's library contained many books leading into new lines of 
thought. " Wilhelm Meister " and Goethe's " Correspondence 
with a Child," also some specimens of the writings of Richter and 
Fichte, opened vistas into new fields of thought. The lives of 
Goethe, Mozart, Beethoven, etc., were full of interest. George 
Sand I began to know in her " Consudlo." Bayley's " Festus " 
commanded attention. Hedge's "Prose Writers of Germany" 
was liberalizing. Plato's " Divine Dialogues," with the " Apology 
of Socrates," were charming. The " Vestiges of Creation," and, 
I will add, some portions of Davis's " Divine Revelations," were an 
opening wedge to " infidelity." A " History of Artists and their 



54 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

Works " I was attracted to, and I was especially glad to get hold 
of Chambers's " Cyclopsedia of Literature." The chronology of 
English authors had been to me a mere muddle before, as I could 
find no means of knowing where to place them in time or succession. 
In a religious way, Bushnell's " Christiail Nurture" was a great 
step forward in orthodoxy, and very helpful to me. The " Christian 
Examiner" was enlightening, and Parker's "Sermons," which 
appeared from time to time, commended themselves to my reason. 
All these influences, added to the effect of Sylvester's preaching, 
which I constantly heard when I was in Augusta, and the light I 
obtained from conversation with him, made me quite ready to pass 
over into the Unitarian ranks at the close of 1848. 



1848-1861. 

In December, 1848, immediately after the close of my water- 
cure treatment, I went to Brooklyn, N. Y., to spend a few weeks 
with a friend. While there, I was requested to take a position in the 
Brooklyn Female Academy, involving some teaching and the charge 
' of the highest classes in composition. This was a large establish- 
ment, with a corps of twenty teachers or so, and six or seven 
hundred scholars. After much hesitation on account of my health, 
I at length consented to occupy the position, but afterwards had so 
many misgivings that I sought a release from my engagement, which, 
however, was not granted. So I entered upon its duties, but with 
the nerves of the head so weak that with great difficulty I got 
through my daily tasks. But as time went on I gradually gained 
strength, and remained in this institution a couple of years. The 
principal of the institution was not a man for whom I had much 
respect, and my relations to him were not altogether agreeable. 
Besides, the compensation was small, five hundred dollars a year 
being the highest salary for the female teachers. One of the 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 55 

gentleman teachers, Avitli whom I had long had a friendly acquain- 
tance, was also quite dissatisfied with his situation, and he pro- 
posed to me to join him in establishing a new school. This 
proposal I accepted, the terms being that, after all expenses were 
paid, I should share in the profits in the same proportion as we 
had relatively received compensation at the Academy, — that is, my 
share being one fourth of his. 

So I entered upon this new enterprise. As it proved that my 
associate, Professor Gray, had no organizing or disciplining power, 
the whole of that labor came upon me, even to the most minute 
arrangements. Our school, which was called the Brooklyn Heights 
Female Seminary, opened well at first, and soon came to have its 
regular departments of Primary, Junior, and Senior, and numbered 
three hundred or more. We took little girls, and carried them 
through their whole course of school studies. Their senior course, 
in my especial room, occupied three years. Their studies with me 
were chiefly literature, art, history, and composition. Besides the 
regular teachers of departments, we called in instructors in music, 
drawing, languages, and other branches of science. We had also 
courses of lectures by gentlemen on different subjects. I had then 
never known the history of English literature or of art to be 
attended to in any of our schools ; but feeling its value and 
interest, I introduced it, and now, I think, it enters into the course 
of all schools of much character. Our scholars were from the best 
families in the city, and our school came to have a high reputation. 
As the management and regulation of it had been chiefly my own, 
from the initial stage onwards, it of course was highly gratifying 
to me. The young ladies, clustered around me with kindness and 
affection in the last years of tlieir school-life, were a great joy to 
me. Their upturned faces, beaming with intelligence and eagerly 
listening to my teachings, together with the evidences of refine- 
ment and culture, were a glad reward for the efforts I had made. 



56 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

Even now, as I meet them, they are enthusiastic over their school 
life with me, and of the value of my instructions to them, as wives 
and mothers. Still, were I now freely to arrange a school, accord- 
ing to my own present ideas, it would be greatly modified from the 
plan then adopted. 

I continued in this school from the time of its establishment in 
1851 until the close of the school year in June, 1861, — a much 
longer period than I had ever before been able to hold out in con- 
tinuous teaching. My labors were comparatively light. That is, 
while I had much care and superintendence, I had no responsibility 
out of school hours, and there were only five hours a day for only 
five days in the week, and there were periods each day when I was 
not specially occupied. In the beginning of 1860 Professor Gray 
died. I carried the school through to the close of the academic 
year. Then another gentleman was to come in as associate princi- 
pal, and, although I was urgently requested to retain my place, I 
was not willing to assume such a relationship with a stranger. 
The power had been mostly in my own hands, and I was not 
adapted to a position where an overruling power might be claimed, 
especially as the school was substantially what I had made it. 
Moreover, although my health was much improved, I still was a 
good deal worn from the long continuance of my cares, and felt 
the need of change and rest. Previously, I had had private classes 
of our graduates and other ladies, and the following year I remained 
in Brooklyn, giving instructions in advanced studies to several 
private classes two or three days in the week. 

As the result of all my previous teaching, at the time T went to 
Brooklyn I had been able to lay aside of my pecuniary compensa- 
tions only about eight hundred dollars ; and of this I lost half 
through the failure of a person to whom I had loaned it, so that 
about four hundred dollars was all I then had to fall back 
upon. The Brooklyn Heights Seminary proved a turning of the 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 57 

tide of fortune. The remuneration from it the first two or three 
years so increased as to make my woman^s share of it about four- 
teen hundred dollars a year ; but, as it became more and more 
prosperous, and, as people said, through my influence, Professor 
Gray — in whom was developed a spirit of avarice that I had 
not been aware of — came to feel that the income from one fourth 
of the profits, after all the most minute expenses had been paid, 
was quite too much for a " woman to receive," and so insisted on 
a change of terms to a regular salary for me of a thousand dollars. 
As I did not wish to leave the school and enter upon any new en- 
terprise, I thus submitted to the superior claims of manhood. 1 
have always been very economical in. my habits, and, as at that 
time everything was very cheap, I managed to lay aside every year 
a considerable portion of my income. Many of my investments 
have been quite unfortunate ; but still from this source and its ac- 
cumulations I have enough, with my modest requirements, to serve 
as a competency. 

The " Literary Reader " I prepared in my leisure hours out of 
school the second year I was in Brooklyn. John P. Jewett was 
the publisher, and at first he secured quite a good sale for it ; but 
soon he dropped the care of his school-books, and I received no 
great amount for the copyright. The " Life of Sylvester Judd" I 
also wrote while in Brooklyn, taking for it evenings and such 
other time as I could command outside of school engagements. I 
had known him from his birth, had had his confidence and under- 
stood his idiosyncracies, and there seemed to be no one so well 
qualified to give a true delineation of his character as myself. I 
regretted that the work could not fall into abler hands, — or a 
least that I could not have my best and freshest hours to give to 
it. I was quite exhausted with the effort before it was completed. 
It was a sad undertaking, but yet a great joy, to have, as it seemed, 
his living presence with me in going over the review of his whole 

8 



58 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

life, and reproducing its varied scenes from childhood onward ; so 
that at the completion of the work, and the laying aside of all his 
manuscripts which I had for so long had about me, it seemed like 
losing him afresh. He had been to me more than any other one 
of my family friends ; I received inspiration from him. There 
always seemed in him a great amount of reserved power, — deep 
fountains to draw from, the products of which were often surpris- 
ing, and awakening curiosity as to what would come next. Then, 
too, he was in the prime of his life, — not quite forty years of age, — 
and in the midst of carrying forward a great movement in the church 
which enlisted all his energies, and over-exertion for which really, 
in great measure, cost him his life, in January, 1858, It seemed 
a hard fate ; his loss to me was almost insupportable, not only 
from the deprivation of his love and confidence, but also from that 
intellectual sympathy and interchange of thought which I so highly 
prized ; I was left, as it were, to stand alone in these respects. His 
children, who had always been of great interest to me, now became 
increasingly dear to me ; and with the tenderest solicitude I 
watched their development and education, doing what I could in 
any way to aid them. 

One of the most valuable acquisitions from my life in Brooklyn 
was my acquaintance with my highly esteemed and dear friend 
Mrs. Christern, then Miss Emily Garrigue. She, with her parents, 
came from Copenhagen to Brooklyn just about the same time I 
went there, and she became connected with the Brooklyn Academy 
as teacher of French and German very soon after my connection 
with it. The culture and refinement apparent in her appearance 
at once attracted me to her, and, as I became acquainted with her 
intellectual endowments and the elevation and purity of her moral 
nature, and experienced the winning kindness and affectionateness 
of her heart, I was irresistibly drawn to her in friendship and love. 
The acquaintance and friendship thus so pleasantly begun has been 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 59 

strengthened and concentrated by a quarter of a century of unin- 
terrupted confidence and intercourse, and is at tins time one of the 
most prominent sources of my enjoyment. Her mother, now for 
many years gone from sight, was a woman of rare talents, — 
genius, indeed, I might say, — and with moral excellence equal 
to her high intellectual endowments. Her ready wit and the bril- 
liancy of her conversation were a charm to all who were favored 
with her society. At the receptions at her house, as well as at 
those of her daughter after her marriage, I have had opportunities 
of meeting many intelligent foreigners, and of becoming acquainted 
with European ideas and manners to a considerable extent. We, 
of course, have much to learn from the older civilizations, while at 
the same time they have much to learn from us ; and I have found 
that the most intelligent among foreigners were disposed to do jus- 
tice to our state of society. Well-educated people, I should say, 
are the same in most respects the world over, and he is the 
most highly developed human being who is the most truly cos- 
mopolitan. So I have great pleasure in the anticipation of results, 
intellectual, social, and religious, which it seems to me must neces- 
sarily come from bringing all the world together by the facilities 
of intercourse which science has already brought about and which 
it promises for the future. It is to be hoped that the ethics in- 
herent in the nature of things will come to be so well understood 
that the best which the separate races and civilizations have been 
able to discover and work out will be readily adopted by each 
and all. 

I had access to very good libraries in Brooklyn, and a good deal 
of leisure for books. New York furnished much, in a variety of 
ways, that was in contrast with my country life hitherto, and that 
was of interest and value to me. In connection with my classes in 
art I traced out whatever there was in tliis department in the city, 
and took the young ladies with me to the different galleries. There 



60 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

was very little of statuary at that time, Palmer's works being the 
chief. But, first and last, there were a great many pictures ex- 
hibited. The old schools were represented by some originals and 
many copies ; and there were galleries of modern French and Ger- 
man pictures, the Diisseldorf containing many beautiful specimens. 
The Academy of Design, at a later time, opened its annual ex- 
hibitions ; and then there was the large collection of Egyptian 
antiquities, with its mummied men and oxen and the relics of 
its specimens of ancient artisanship. Operas, concerts, and the- 
atres I had never had an opportunity of attending before, and I 
followed them up to a considerable extent ; but they did not afford 
me the enjoyment that I had expected. It is rare that I have seen 
acting where the characters attempted to be personated carried 
with them the impress of reality. Rachel satisfied, — she more 
than satisfied, she delighted. She was herself what she simulated 
for the time being, and with so much grace, beauty, and natural- 
ness in every movement and expression, it was charming, — it was 
transporting. A number of other performers might be named 
who were very pleasing ; but in general they seemed to me to have 
great shortcomings. And much of the music seemed wanting in 
that element of expression, of feeling, which to me is the essential 
soul of music. A full orchestra, with Beethoven's grand sym- 
phonies, has given me the highest enjoyment. Mere execution I 
am not able to appreciate. 

When I went to Brooklyn, I was so far emancipated from all 
rehgious creeds that I sought to hear all sorts of views discussed. 
I attended service at almost all the different churches, including 
the Swedenborgian, at which Professor Bush then preached. ... In 
the course of a year or two, a movement was made to form a new 
Unitarian society, and after hearing a variety of candidates, Mr. 
Longfellow was engaged as the regular minister. From the first, 
I attended the meetings of the society, and continued to attend 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 61 

regularly as long as I remained in Brooklyn. The society built a 
modest little chapel, but everything in its interior was arranged 
with great taste ; the platform, with its background of crimson 
drapery, and its soft, blue canopy, seemed to form a fit setting for 
the golden hair and gentle form of its minister. His services were 
peculiarly harmonious, the whole — music, prayer, scripture-read- 
ings, and sermon — having the beauty and completeness of a poem. 
The Communion Service, in which Mr. Longfellow himself carried 
around the bread and wine, repeating at intervals, as he passed 
around, some of the choice words of Jesus, was entirely unique in 
its character and most happy in its influence. The Yesper Ser- 
vice, too, which he first introduced to Protestant Churches, I think, 
and for which he prepared a "" Service Book," was most charming, 
— in its way, the aesthetics of religion. I often went away from 
that little chapel feeling that it was indeed the house of God and 
the very gate of heaven, and, as it were, under a spell, a charm, 
which I was reluctant to have broken by any mundane sounds or 
cares. Sometimes this sort of ecstasy after a vesper service, and 
walking home under the brilliant, silent stars, lasted quite into the 
night, preventing sleep. Mr. Longfellow's faith in the invisible 
and his intuitive vision were so great that I naturally fell under 
their magnetic influence, and the more readily as it was so happy 
a change from the baleful Orthodox influences under which I had 
been educated. But his influence, after all, was the emotional, 
based upon the intuitive, and there was a want of basis and perma- 
nence in its effects. While constantly under the influences of his 
services, my mind and heart were in peaceful repose. Then, doc- 
trinally, he was perfectly free and radical, so far as Bible author- 
ity was concerned, the only trust and reliance being in our 
own intuitions. I recollect that then Starr King first enun- 
ciated to my mind that there was no necessary connection 
between theology and religion. This was a startling and bold 



62 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

announcement, but I was happy to accept it, and found it quite 
helpful. 

In 1860 I received a letter from the church in Saco which I first 
ioined, and of which I was still a member, asking if I " wished to 
remain permanently connected with that church, or to remove 
my connection to some evangelical church where I resided." My 
reply will show my religious position at that time, and I will tran- 
scribe it. I say : " I wish to be in the most friendly relations to 
the children of God the world over, to be a member of the great 
Church Universal in earth and in heaven ; and it matters little to 
me of what one in particular I may be considered a member. So, 
if it is consistent with the regulations of your church to allow my 
name to remain upon your record, I should be pleased to have it." 
I would say that there was no regular church organization in Mr. 
Longfellow's society. I added : " I must, however, in candor say 
that I am very eclectic in my theological views, and do not now 
adhere to the articles of your creed as it stood when I united with 
the church. I have come to feel that there should be a distinction 
made between theology and religion, and in the latter I feel that 
I could join harmoniously with all who have the spirit of Jesus 
Christ, by whatever name called. I have for several years at- 
tended the Rev. Mr. Longfellow's church of this place, and have 
received, I think, great spiritual life from his ministrations. God 
and religion were never so much to me as since I attended this 
church." In answer to this letter, I received another note from 
the church, asking for " a fuller statement of my present belief." 
To this I replied : " As to the ground principles, I have very little 
to add to the substance of my note to you. The central point is 
the broad summary of Jesus Christ : Love to God and love to man. 
I acknowledge, and wish to live up to, every obligation arising 
from these two divine commands, taken in their widest and fullest 
extent. I believe they are binding upon us througli the whole 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 63 

course of our existence, and that they extend to all the engage- 
ments of life, — in the shop and by the way, as well as in the temple 
of worship ; on every day of the week, as well as upon the first, — and 
that they should govern our secret feelings as well as our outward 
actions. This to me is piety, this is religion. And here I make 
a distinction between religion and theology : the one of the moral 
nature, that of which right and wrong can be affirmed; the other 
of the intellectual, the deductions of which vary according to the 
amount of light received. Theology, I think, is rightly classed 
among the speculative sciences. It is man's philosophy about God. 
And, as God is infinite in all respects, and man is limited in his 
capacities, and as the finite cannot philosophize with perfect cer- 
tainty upon the Infinite, it follows that, in man's most earnest 
investigations of a theological kind, he is liable to err. Man, too, 
is created with powers susceptible of progress, of indefinite devel- 
opment ; and, consequently, what seems to him true at one time 
may, at another period, when more light and knowledge have flowed 
in upon him, appear entirely false, inconsistent. And I believe we 
ought always to be true to our own convictions of truth, let them 
carry us where they may, and perfectly free to change our opinions, 
when there is, to our minds, good ground for it. We believe on 
evidence, and where evidence is wanting there can be no belief. 
We cannot, therefore, control belief, but are forced to receive that 
which comes to us with evidence of truth. It follows that, until 
we attain to absolute perfection, we cannot remain stationary in 
our views, but must, if we are earnest students and are truly in- 
genuous, modify our opinions according to our present perceptions 
of truth. And this brings me to the second ground-principle 
of my present belief, — the right, the sacred duty, of exercis- 
ing private judgment. Here I feel I stand on the broad plat- 
form of Protestantism, the cardinal point of Luther, but a 
principle that has been sadly trespassed upon from his day 



64 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

to this. Our worthy Puritan leader who declared that he be- 
lieved more light was to break from the Holy Scriptures, and 
who charged his people to be as ready to receive and follow 
that light as any teachings they had had from him, was a noble 
exception, and his example is one, I think, that should be imi- 
tated. ... I might follow out these principles, in their various 
ramifications, to greater length, but I do not know that it would 
be of any value. What I have already stated, covers the whole 
ground. The synopsis would stand thus : — 

I. Supreme Love to God. 
II. Love to the Neighbor. 
III. Religion and Theology distinct. 
IV. The Inalienable Right of Private Judgment." 

Thus ended my intercourse with the church of which I was a 
member. I have never heard a word from them since, and do not 
know whether or not my name still stands upon their books. As 
I look over this communication, I think I should like to have been 
present to witness the effect of such heterodox sentiments upon 
that Oalvinistic body. I hope at least that it conveyed a little 
light and strength to some questioning listener. 

1861-1876. 

In the spring of 1862 I discontinued my private classes in 
Brooklyn, which had been very pleasant to me and moderately re- 
munerative, because I was tired of the confinement, and did not 
feel strong enough to sustain myself to my own satisfaction. I 
suppose I had had nearly two thousand young ladies, first and last, 
under my care and instruction. I should like to begin afresh again, 
with my present knowledge and experience. If I might be per- 
mitted to carry out my ideas and influence with freedom on as 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 65 

large a number, I think I could help on the world's progress, and 
aid in laying a better foundation for the generations to come, by 
better qualifying young women to be the right kind of mothers. 
As it was, I think I tried to do the best I knew, and that must 
content me. I have, indeed, the testimony of many that they have 
had from me valuable help. 

On leaving Brooklyn, I went directly to my niece, Mrs. J. H. 
Williams, of Augusta, where I spent the warmer part of the 
season for half a dozen years or so, and the colder part mostly 
at J. W. Judd's in Orange, New Jersey. . . . My surroundings 
there were exceedingly pleasant. Quite near were the wife and 
children of Sylvester Judd, who were of great interest to me. . . . 
The cottage home at Orange, on the borders of Llewellyn Park, is 
very pleasant, and I have always enjoyed there a most kindly 
welcome. A quite large and valuable library furnishes abundant 
mental aliment. The family home at the little cottage in North- 
ampton, where my sister, Mrs. Judd, still lives, at the age of almost 
ninety years, has always been open to me. The death of her hus- 
band, my highly valued brother-in-law, in 1860, made an ever 
painfully felt void to me. From all my family friends I have 
received great kindness, and there has never been a time when 
more than one door was not open to receive me. And, I may add, 
each and all give me the credit of having been helpful to them in 
one way or another. I must say that I have always felt, if there 
was anything that came in my way to be done, that I could do with 
more readiness, or perhaps better than another at hand, it was my 
proper business to do it, whether, in any strict sense, it belonged to 
me to do it or not, — it was a thing to be done in the world, and I 
could do it, and that was enough, and no one need feel under 
obligations to me for it. 

The winter of 1869-70, I passed pleasantly in Boston, and had 
there my first opportunity of being present at the Radical Club — 

9 



66 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

the intellectual and spiritual lotus-eating feast — and of attending 
the Horticultural Hall Lectures, where I heard with delight the 
essay upon "Jesus and Socrates," and for the first time saw and 
spoke with its author. I recollect, on coming out, some persons ex- 
pressed great offence at the sentiments uttered, but I was then 
ready to receive it all. At that time I received the first number of 
" The Index," which was to me a new and most acceptable gospel ; 
and its weekly "glad tidings" have been to me nutriment and 
stimulus ever since. I was that winter a member of the Boston 
Woman's Club, and attended all its meetings. But, I must say, 
I was greatly disappointed as to the intellectual tone I had expected. 
There seemed to be very little effected by its coming together, 
and there was much that seemed commonplace and trivial. I don't 
know how it may have been since. The winter and spring of 
1871 I divided between the cities of Philadelphia, Baltimore, and 
Washington. These were all new to me, and I quite industriously 
sought out whatever of special interest each had to furnish. I 
spent a good deal of time at the Capitol at Washington, and was 
present at the discussion respecting the removal of Mr. Sumner 
from the Chairmanship of the Committee of Foreign Relations (or, 
as one of the speakers humorously remarked, it was more properly 
a question of personal relations). I heard Mr. Sumner's great 
speech on St. Domingo, and a great speech by Mr. Schurz, — in 
defence of Mr. Sumner, I think. Those two men impressed me as 
being far superior to any other members of the Senate, not only 
in eloquence, but in grasp of thought and in moral aims. The 
impression made upon me by the House was that of an extremely 
ill-governed, ill-disciplined school. The noise and confusion 
seemed a disgrace to the hall of our national legislature. The trip 
to Mount Vernon, on the broad, placid bosom of the Potomac, and 
the visit to the mansion and the tomb of the " Father of his 
Country," were of course of great interest. But I have not that 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 67 

sensibility to impressions from historical localities that many have. 
I can just about as well take in the whole impression from reading 
as from being upon the spot. 

In the autumn of 1872 I made the journey to Clear Lake, Minn., 
sixty-five miles up the Mississippi above St. Paul. On my way I 
stopped a day or two at Oneida Community, where I had once 
before spent a couple of weeks, having among its members an aunt 
and a cousin, — women of superior intellect and of great moral ex- 
cellence, strange as the assertion may seem to those entertaining 
the common opinion of that community. It must be understood 
that their fundamental principle is that of having attained perfec- 
tion in obedience to the command of Jesus, " Be ye perfect," and 
that to the pure all things are pure. Love from each to all they 
consider of the highest obligation, and at whatever cost of self- 
abnegation. I have never seen a people of more modest behavior 
or of purer manners. There was not the slightest indication of 
self-indulgence or of low attractions ; and I was led to believe that 
there is really less sensuality among them than usually exists in 
families in the ordinary state. It would seem to require the inter- 
pretation simply as a strange and most peculiar phase of religious 
delusion. Education, art, industry, and all the valuable improve- 
ments of life are cultivated. At Niagara I spent a few days with 
my nephew, Rev. Myron Johnson, an Episcopal clergyman, and 
had an opportunity of surveying at leisure all the wonderful scenery 
of that region both on the American and tbe Canadian sides. 
Tlie features of the country beyond Niagara were all new to me. 
The great inland seas and the vast prairies produced a striking 
impression. I soon tired of the long, treeless levels of the latter, 
and was glad on returning to be refreshed by the sight of familiar 
hills and trees. I feel that I could not live among such monoto- 
nous scenery. The banks of the upper Mississippi were strangely 
impressive, with their castellated cliffs and ever-varying outline. 



68 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

The sail down the river from St. Paul to Quincy, the last trip of 
the season, with low water, constant getting aground, many delays, 
and shortness of provisions, was sufficiently memorable. After 
spending a little time with relatives in Quincy I made a visit to a 
niece in Galva, III, whose husband is a Methodist minister, and 
attended upon all their religious services, class-meeting included, 
where I was invited to express my sentiments, — an opportunity 
which I thought it wise to decline. The good minister, suspecting 
my heterodoxy, sought to fortify me against unbelief, but (alas for 
his kindly efforts !) without success. 

But the most notable part of all this journey was my visit at 
Toledo, where I was received with such remarkahle evidences of 
hospitality and kindness. I had long felt a desire to be personally 
acquainted with one whose kindly, helpful letters to me while yet 
a stranger, and whose public utterances through " The Index," 
had been of so much value to me. The familiarity and confidence 
with which I was admitted into the bosom of the family, and the 
kindness I received from each member, was truly delightful ; it 
was a fresh, free atmosphere of thought and an elevated purity of 
moral and spiritual life. Its influence went with me like a beauti- 
ful halo of superior existence on my homeward way. I could not 
then have anticipated the happiness in store for me, for three suc- 
cessive winters, of daily opportunities for conversation upon the 
highest and noblest intellectual themes, — of all that most deeply 
interests the heart and soul in this present existence, and of the 
hopes of an existence beyond where there may be more entire ful- 
ness and freedom for the best aspirations of the spirit. Taking it 
all in all, I must certainly accord to these periods the highest 
rank, in the enjoyments of my higher nature, that I have ever 
experienced. . . . 

As I have before stated, the religious influences which I had re- 
ceived from the ministrations of Mr. Longfellow at the " New 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 69 

Chapel " operated upon me emotionally in a most delightful man- 
ner. I was borne along by his intuitive confidence with great 
spiritual repose. It was a glad rest and satisfaction, as compared 
with the Orthodox atmosphere in which I had so long had my 
stifled existence. In Augusta, removed from those religious influ- 
ences I so much enjoyed, I began to feel that I had nothing very 
substantial to fall back upon. My own " intuitions " did not seem 
sufficiently trustworthy to sustain me. Then I read Herbert Spen- 
cer's philosophy and Comte's Positivism ; and the result was that 
all the intellectual part of my religion vanished away. I had no 
God and no immortality left. Life came to seem useless and ob- 
jectless,- — the successive images upon a mirror from a passing 
procession. What mattered it to be born, to live, or to die ? Was 
not lie the wisest whose rule of action was to eat, drink, and be 
merry for the present moment, with no thought or care for the 
past or future ? And yet I felt something within me that com- 
pelled a preference for an ideal highest and best, — a something 
prompting to noble feeling and endeavor, instead of yielding to 
selfishness and self-indulgence. But for a long time I was in a 
most unrestful, desponding, and unhappy state. It was at that 
period, my dear friend, that you first came to my knowledge. I 
heard' through Rev. Henry Brown, then of Augusta, of your 
speech and the impression you made at the Syracuse Unitarian 
Conference. Afterward, from time to time, T saw what seemed to 
me unkind criticisms upon you in the " Liberal Christian." I 
felt that I could understand your main standpoint ; I was im- 
pressed with your spirit of freedom and your deep earnestness ; I 
sympathized in your allegiance to truth, which made you ready to 
follow your convictions of it wherever they led, and at whatever 
sacrifice of personal feeling or interest ; and so, on general prin- 
ciples, you being an entire stranger to me, I felt the keen injustice 
of any harsh utterances against you. I was reminded of what 



70 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

Sylvester Judd had suffered under a similar trial, and I felt that 
you could not but find your position a very trying one ; so I indul- 
ged the promptings of my heart, and ventured to intrude upon 
your personality with some words of earnest sympathy. I did not 
expect a reply ; it was enough that I satisfied my own impulse. 
But an answer came, so full of grateful appreciation that I felt 
the indulgence of my prompting justified. But better than this 
was the aid which I received from the unfolding of your own 
stimulus of action, — so grand, so far above the ordinary prin- 
ciples of what I had known as religious motive. It struck a new 
keynote to me, — that of " tlie transference of the main emphasis 
of life from the future to the present," and " making religion 
identical with the struggle for character and for human welfare 
here on earth ; " that " with or without a God, with or without 
personal immortality, the intrinsic worth of spiritual excellence is 
a motive for boundless effort and self-sacrifice." And then your 
own position : " To live here in such fashion that at every moment 
I may respect myself, and feel I am helping to better the lot of 
humanity, is an object sufficient for limitless exertion ; " and " I 
count it a dazzling destiny to serve the cause of spiritual eman- 
cipation and free human development ; " also, " In my ethics the 
welfare of each individual soul is part and parcel of the universal 
welfare of the race, and the individual cannot realize his own most 
private ideal unless he consecrates himself to universal ends." 
Here was something really worth living for, after all. My nature 
responded at once, and with warmth, to these noble, these elevat- 
ing sentiments. I began to find a foundation broader and firmer 
than any I had known before, — something of that " Eternal Rock " 
on which " a soul grounded on the ultimate rectitude and justice " 
rests. This formed an era in my experience. I was now " con- 
verted." I had tried for this long before, but never had succeeded. 
I now passed " from death unto life," — that great ordeal of Moody's 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 71 

efforts. But how unlike ! How in perishing need of the w^onder- 
ful change, in the view of such as he ! Then came " The Index," 
with all its " Liberty and Light." I must confess I was at first a 
little startled by its broad enunciation of being ^'•squarely outside 
of Christianity." I was not quite prepared for this ; and then, 
too, I feared it was not quite best to say it to the world, even if it 
was true. I did not then know the utterly uncompromising nature 
of its editor, and had been too long trained in the policy of expe- 
diency to feel that the truth was none too good to be proclaimed 
with freedom, and that, however seemingly hurtful, it was far bet- 
ter than any illusion, however cherished. Great has been the 
change in my feeling regarding Christianity since that time. As 
I have become better instructed on the subject, I cannot see that it 
has any higher claims to authority than any of the other historical 
religions, or that the so-called Christian precepts have any special 
claim to originality with Jesus. I rejoice in the belief that, as a 
system, it is destined to pass away from the credence of the world ; 
that this work has already commenced, and is in progress ; and 
that the era of a more rational religion, one better adapted to the 
elevation, the well-being of humanity in its universality, has begun 
to dawn upon us. 

As to myself, I do not know what Crod is. Matthew Arnold says, 
" He is that Eternal Power, not ourselves, that makes for right- 
eousness." If he gets a satisfactory idea out of that definition, he 
does better than I can. It seems to me there must be intelligence 
and wisdom at the centre of the Universe, and that a plan for the 
best exists, but that the Author of all is beyond our comprehen- 
sion. As to a life beyond this, I must say that at present, with 
me, the evidences do not preponderate over the uncertainties. I 
can only say, with Mr. Emerson, that I have the conviction " that, 
if it be best that conscious personal life shall continue, it will con- 
tinue ; if not best, then it will not; and we, if we saw the whole, 



72 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

should of course see that it was better so." And Schiller, he 
writes, sajs : " What is so universal as death must be benefit." 
So I hope, when my last moment comes, peacefully to close my 
eyes and surrender my breath, in fullfaiththat the best will happen. 
And this truly seems to me a higher triumph for any one than any 
of those ecstasies of Christian experience, when the departing soul 
passes away in rapture, filled with the belief that it is going imme- 
diately into the presence of its beloved Lord and Saviour, and about 
to participate in all the transcendent glories of a celestial Paradise. 
In the mean time I will try to live as best 1 can. 1 wish it could 
be better. The effects of early habits, of false principles, still cling 
to me. I would give — what would I not ? to be a child again, born 
into an atmosphere of free and enlightened thought, and with just 
ideas of life, its relations, its duties, and its worthiest aims. 

I shall not attempt any general summary of the elements of my 
intellectual or moral nature. Different environments at first, and 
different circumstances and conditions ail along, would, of course, 
have differently modified and developed my character. The dis- 
advantages under which I have labored, and the many difficulties 
with which I have had to struggle, have had their compensations 
in various ways, and perhaps, on the whole, the result is as well as 
if a seemingly more favored lot had been accorded to me. I think 
a strong sense of right and justice has always been a predominant 
trait in my moral nature. Previously to my loss of health, it was 
quite easy for me to go on firmly in obedience to the behests of 
these principles. I have naturally a great love of approbation — 
not vanity, I think, but growing out of a strongly felt need of har- 
mony — of at-one-ment with those about me. It is a sort of cruci- 
fixion to me to be at variance with those near or dear to me. This 
intense desire for sympathy has been my most prominent weakness, 
especially since my loss of health, and has sometimes caused me to 
falter in acting up to my highest ideal. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 73 

And now I seem to have come to the end of this long story of 
my life. 

It was begun without a plan of execution, for I could not, to 
start with, see my way through the dim labyrinth of the past. As 
it has opened to me, I have proceeded, but with less method than 
if I could have taken in the whole at one survey. Not a line of it 
has been re-written. It might, of course, be improved by re-cast- 
ing and re-writing the whole ; but that is a task I do not feel equal 
to. While it has required no little resolution thus to summon up 
the ghosts of my past life, and to delineate them for the inspection 
of another eye, and no little effort to execute the undertaking, it 
has, at the same time, been a work of great interest to me, and of 
pleasure too. In going through it all, I do not see that I have made 
any great mistakes in voluntary decisions, circumstances being as 
they were. So I have the consciousness within of doing, in general, 
about the best that I could. 

And now, as I come upon the last page, a little of the sadness 
always attaching to the idea of the last I find stealing over me, 
and inclining me to linger upon the final words. But the end has 
come. How much or how little remains to complete the story, 
time only can show. 

Such as it is, my dear friend, I submit it to you. The friend- 
ship you have evinced for me gives assurance that you will find in- 
terest in the narrative, that your criticisms will be kind, and that 
I am safe in confiding it to your hands. 

Arethusa Hall. 

New York, April 13, 1876. 

10 



EXTRACTS 



FROM 



PRIVATE NOTE-BOOKS AND JOURNALS. 



1872. — What can be said of the consistency of Unitarians, who in 
general do not believe in the full inspiration of the Scriptures, nor 
in the divine or superhuman nature of Jesus, but who still strenu- 
ously insist upon the importance of retaining the name Christian ? 
If Jesus was a man like other men, even allowing him to have 
been the best man that ever lived, why the importance of being 
forever called by his name, rather than of adopting one that 
should embrace all earnest and devout souls of the human race, 
and that should indicate nearness to, and enlistment under, the 
leadership of the One Supreme ? Granting that Jesus is " our 
holiest brother, our greatest helper," if he is alike a man with us 
and with us equally related to God in a common humanity and a 
common affinity to him, is that a sufficient reason why we must 
forever be called by his name, instead of a broader, a grander one, 
which may embrace the relations of all humanity in its religious 
aspirations and attainments to the One Father of all ? The taking 
of the name of any one man implies a stop to progress, — implies 
that that one^ in his day, attained to all ultimate and absolute truth. 
And who is ready to affirm this of any man, however perfect and 
however great a " helper " he may have been ? Those who do this 



76 EXTRACTS. 

are brought to a standstill. Minds differ. Let us take help from 
all who can help us. Let us be free to take whatever seems true, 
come from what source it may. But let us not limit ourselves to 
Buddha, Confucius, Socrates, or Jesus ; to Luther, Calvin, nor yet 
Channing, Parker, or Abbot. Let all be helpers, but none masters. 



1872. — Two friends make a journey of sixty miles in one direc- 
tion, ten or a dozen in several others, to see colts. Great improve- 
ments are made in the race of cows, hens, and pigs. But where 
is the care for improving the human race, — their health, their 
beauty, their moral or spiritual nature ? What an absence of per- 
ception of the relative importance of things ! How low in the 
scale of real civilization must we yet be, when the material, the 
brute agencies of nature are so much in the ascendent, even in the 
minds of the professedly religious and cultivated ! Murray and 
Beecher can make books upon the horse, but what do they urge in 
relation to the physiological laws which are so deeply concerned in 
the advancement, elevation, and perfection of the souls and bodies 
of men ? A delicate subject, it is said. But where lies the indeli- 
cacy, save in the minds of those debased by false ideas of nature^ 
tainted with the notion of our innate depravity, and imbued with a 
religion which teaches the duty of despising nature and trampling 
under foot all its instincts ? 



Feb. 26, 1873. — Do we not have first to discover, by the action 
of the environment upon us, that there exists in the order of Na- 
ture, in the nature of things, transcendent harmony, fitness, beauty, 
tendency to highest good ; and, after the perception, comes there 



EXTRACTS. 77 

not the feeling of wishing to be at one with this ? Following this 
sentiment, rises there not spontaneously the effort to bring our- 
selves into this relation ? Does not a sense of the Infinite arouse 
into action the germ in us of wishing, seeking, striving to be like 
it ? And is not this striving the religious part of it, while the per- 
ception is the intellectual ? Is there any religion in mere belief 
or perception ? Does not the religion consist in striving to be in 
accord with the highest, the best we know ? Does not Mr. Abbot 
make one more analysis than Mr. Potter, — that of separating an 
intellectual from a religious process ? 



April 30^ 1875. — The intellectual life, the life of the spirit, — 
there is notliing so high. It is not pure reason alone, it is soul, it 
is heart, all elevated to the plane of the infinite as nearly as the 
finite can reach. It is oneness with the all-pervading Spirit of the 
Universe, the ecstatic harmony [of] the one with the all. The 
sense of this is delight, exultation, even in solitude. But, w^hen 
shared in an understanding sympathy with other souls, it is heaven, 
— inclusive of everything really valuable that the material has to 
give. How world-wide [distant] from this [is] the level of life of 
the most of persons, and what a sense of solitude intercourse with 
such gives to those who have once tasted of this heavenly joy ! 
This is not sentimentality, it is the highest reality. It does not 
incapacitate for daily life, — it seems rather to make it the more 
perfect, to permeate it with beauty and excellence. The religion 
which tends to the " perfection of man " would insure all this. 
And, truly, labor for the promotion of such a state of the world 
may vrell seem " a dazzling destiny." 



78 EXTRACTS. 

March 22, 1877. — My mind is highly philosophical. It natu- 
rally had great grasping power. At about the age of thirty, my 
health began to be seriously affected. ... At about thirty-five, 
from constant over-taxing of the brain in study and teaching, a 
sudden giving way of the brain occurred, and for years I could not 
read a book or bring my mind to bear upon anything with any con- 
secutive power. ... In conversation I could not embody the best 
thoughts I had, and was forced to let pass or waive points from 
want of mental power to set forth and maintain my own ideas. 
Especially has this been true when conversing with persons of 
strong minds and positive ways of presenting thought. This has 
caused me immense embarrassment and mortification, and has led 
me to shrink from interviews with persons with whom I have 
longed to hold intercourse. Although, knowing the cause, it ought 
not, yet it has, almost necessarily, touched upon self-respect ; self- 
confidence it could not but impair. 

From the physical condition in which I have been, extreme seri- 
ousness has been a natural result. A terrible depression of spirit, 
almost insupportable at times, has been another. This, acting 
upon the sympathetic nerves of the stomach, has caused agony 
there. Such has been a great part of my life. No one has under- 
stood it, and I have had very little of that sympathy which would 
have been the best medicine. But it has given me the power to 
understand others in suffering conditions, and my sympathy with 
such has been spontaneous. Therefore, putting aside self, this, 
perhaps, ought to be joy enough, — a joy it certainly has been. 
Taking it all in all, I cannot but be pretty well satisfied in my own 
eyes, as wishing to do the best, — tryimg to do it, notwithstanding my 
failures to attain the goal desired. 



EXTRACTS. 79 

Jan. £9, 1878. — Yesterday it was forty-one years since my loss 
of the best of friends. I yearn for her still. I need such a friend 
in daily life, . . . and I cannot trouble those who have too much 
of their own to bear. 



April 5. — I have been enjoying reading aloud to Mr. Abbot, 
evenings, for some weeks. I have read to him "Les Miserables," 
" Picciola," " Consuelo," and am near finishing " The Countess of 
Rudolstadt." We find George Sand terribly wanting in the truth- 
fulness of her best characters. . . . And, in contrast, I am more 
and more impressed with the laxity of most persons in this respect. 
In my own experience with persons not considered untruthful, it 
has still seemed to be taken as a thing of course that little subter- 
fuges for concealing, modifying, or diverting from the truth were 
perfectly right. In my own case, I am conscious I grew up very 
much in that way, not thinking but it was all well ; although, I am 
sure, I have in my heart naturally the greatest love and reverence 
for truth. 



Northampton., Oct. 5, 1879. — Alone in the house. It is Sunday 
morning. The tramp of passing church-goers has just ceased. No 
sound but the measured and almost solemn tick, tick, of the old 
family clock. The trees in all the glory of their autumnal hues. 
I looked for Emerson's words : " Standing on the bare ground, the 
currents of universal Being pass through me ; the names of father, 
brother, seem strange to me." I could not find them, and cannot 
quote them exactly ; but my own emotions reminded me of them. 
My heart seemed to beat in unison with the great heart of Nature. 
It is good to be leisurely alone with the Soul of the Universe, to 
feel at one with the informing Spirit of the Whole, unfathomable, 



80 EXTRACTS. 

incomprehensible though it be. Yet I have faith in the Infinite 
Intelligence and Wisdom that presides over and governs all, call it 
God or what one may. In my best moments, I am willing to trust 
myself entirely to this Power, unknown, unparticularized though it 
be in my own mind. Whether conscious existence continues after 
this life, I know not. I have little expectation of it. I cannot 
find sufficient evidence for immortality. I wish it, I hope for it. 
It seems to me we do not know enough of Nature's purposes to say 
that she does not carry out in this life all that she intends for us. 
. . . And so I throw myself on the bosom of universal Nature, try 
to forget the annoyances of the petty, the individual, and so find 
serenity and repose. 



Cambridge, Jan. 27, 188If. — Thirty-one years, yesterday, since 
Sylvester disappeared. He would have been over seventy now. 
Does he still live ? And how ? 

To-morrow, forty-seven years since Catherine, my noblest friend, 
departed, — the highest moral character I have ever known, and in- 
tellect equally distinguished. 

While I admire intellect and acumen, wit and brilliancy, high 
moral endowments far surpass these in my reverence and love. 
The analysis of character has been my study through life, — the 
tracing out of the springs of action, and the estimating of the out- 
ward by the inward prompting motives. I am sure I have a strong 
sense of justice in my nature, and the witnessing of an injustice 
done to another I feel as if done to myself. 



^eh. 6. — If I live after this life, I know I shall gravitate towards 
the greatest in goodness and in knowledge. Not that I should be 



EXTRACTS. 81 

entitled to be one of them, but that I should wish to sit at their feet, 
to listen to their words, having attraction in no other direction ; 
and they, seeing my craving and my sympathy, would not spurn 
me from them. 



February 18. — We need those who are in sympathy with our 
best., to bring forth our best. The presentation of what we disap- 
prove, of what we condemn as unjust, as wrong, as foolish, when 
we cannot help it, cannot express our honest disapproval with our 
reasons, stirs within us the less worthy elements of our nature. 

Socrates says : " Give me beauty in the inward soul ; and may 
the outward and the inward man be at one." So I most ear- 
nestly pray. 



March 5. — Plato says the notion of Eryximachus of love may be 
summed up as the harmony of man with himself, in soul as well as 
in body, and of all things in heaven and earth with one another. 
Such is my idea. From my earliest years, harmony has been the 
great want of my being; dissonance most painful, and in all tlie 
daily intercourse of life its presence most aggravating. I have 
been told that my mother, from certain elements she saw in me 
while quite young, thought of giving me the name Harmony. 

Socrates says. Love is the beautiful, and the beautiful is the 
good ; and in desiring the beautiful he desires, not only the good, 
but its everlasting possession ; and this is happiness. All beauty is 
of one kindred, and there is a single science of universal beauty. — 
Man cannot exist in isolation. The loves of this world are an in- 
distinct anticipation of an ideal union not yet realized. 

11 



82 EXTRACTS. 

March 15. — Sitting here alone in my room, communing with the 
thoughts of other souls that have lived, I feel myself exhilarated. 
I feel as fresh in my emotions and sympathies as in the first gush 
of youth. I cannot realize my count of years. I feel too full of life 
to believe that its end can come for a long period yet ! I wish to 
recall all the experiences through which I have passed, the various 
phases of character which have at times been most prominent. I 
wish to analyze and draw out the philosophy of my life. JSTo one 
knows me fully, or ever has known me. A forced concealment, 
a repression, has always ruled me. A lone soul I have always 
lived. . . . 



April 28. — ... If my physical system had remained firm, and 
the power of will had not yet been weakened through nervous de- 
bility, my experience would have been very different. For the time 
was when I could stand firm as a rock on what I thought the right. 
At an earlier period, I had the Orthodox Christian conviction that 
God ordered all, even the most minute affairs, and in quiet submis- 
siveness and trust I felt that all would be well. A soothing and 
comfortable faith, even if baseless ! Have I lost ? Have I regrets 
for giving it up ? iVb, emphatically. Truth is far more precious 
than illusions, however soothing their influence. 



June 14, 1885. — There is nothing so hard to bear as mental de- 
pression, irritations that come to a sensitive nature from antagon- 
isms and an absence of sympathy in what most vitally interests 
one's self. It is a starving, famishing life, and years have no power 
in killing out the sensibility. Energies and aspirations that have 
no chance or liberty to put forth in accomplishing turn back in 
devastation. . . . 



EXTRACTS. 83 

September 17, — Have just finished the " Life of John Brown.'' 
I am impressed with admiration of his calm, steadfast, and bold 
adherence to his convictions, though I think he entirely misjudged 
in his attack upon Harper's Ferry, His condition under sentence of 
death seems to me as sublimely great as that of Socrates. 



Northampton, July 3, 1886. — 

" It is too late ! Ah, uothing is too late, 
Till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate. 



Something remains for us to do or dare ; 
Even the oldest tree some fruit may bear, 

For age is opportunity no less 

Than youth itself, though in another dress." 

Longfellow : Morituri Salutamus. 



Sunday, July 4- — -^H going by to church, in gay carriages and 
on foot, all dressed in their best. What is the ruling motive, the 
ruling experience ? I suppose the most v^ould think me, sitting 
here, never going to church, quite a heathen. But I feel in my 
soul near to the Spirit of the Universe, penetrated by the mysteries 
of existence, and filled with earnest desires to be in harmony with 
eternal laws and to govern my whole being by principles of abso- 
lute rectitude. What better could the churches give me ? Alas, 
the plane of their teachings seems incomparably below the neces- 
sities and cravings of my spiritual nature. Alone in the house, in 



84 EXTRACTS. 

this perfect stillness and solitude, there is something uplifting, 
transcending, bearing the spirit away into unseen realms of the 
Eternal, — the Immanent Source and Universal Presence of the All. 



Northampton^ Aug. 19, 1887. — As I read in the " Life of Long- 
fellow " of all the persons distinguished in art, in poetry, in liter- 
ature and science, with whom he was in constant intercourse, I am 
saddened that such society could not have been mine. Though I 
have not the power of producing, I have the power of appreciating 
and highly enjoying such society, and such I have always craved. 
If life continues after this, my spirit, freed from the limitations of 
the body, will, I am sure, gravitate towards the highest and the 
best. And will they not admit me as of their degree ? 



Northampton, May 19, 1888. — Alone in this kitchen, with the 
clock ticking as sole companion, yet tranquil, happy. I have 
come at length to find a measure of rest within, instead of those 
intense outreachings for satisfactions without. After all, our own 
souls are the basis on which we must depend. It is a grand mis- 
take to seek out of ourselves perfect solace. I have been miserably 
weak all my life in craving for outward sympathy. — I have had a 
time given to work with my hands. Now comes a pause, and I 
return to books with fresh relish. I cannot originate, but I have 
power to appreciate the productions of others. 



EXTRACTS. 85 

UNSEEN. 
Rev. Charles G. Ames. 

How do the rivulets find their way ? 
How do the flowers know the da}-, 
And open their cups to catcli the ra}' ? 

I see the germ to the sunlight reach, 

And the nestling knows the old bird's speech : 

I do not know who is there to teach. 

I see the hare from the danger hide, 

And the stars through the pathless spaces ride : 

I do not see that the}' have a guide. 

He is eyes for all who is eyes for the mole ; 
All motion goes to the rightful goal : 
O God, I can trust for the human soul. 

Aug. 28, 1888. 



[The last entry, dictated.] 

Feb. IS, 1891. — " Religion consists in the perception of the In- 
finite, under sucli manifestations as are able to influence the moral 
character of men " (^Natural Religion, Max Miiller). 



CORRESPONDENCE ON CHRISTIANITY. 



MISS ARP:THUSA hall to MRS. MARGARET WOODS 

LAWRENCE. 

164 Elm SteeeTj Northampton, May 21, 1889. 

. . . You ask how the other life looks to me. I have no idea 
of its details. I trust ; I hope. I think there is great reason to 
believe in its existence, and every reason to trust that all is wisest 
and best, — that the Ruler of the Universe does all things well. 
Upon the bosom of this wonderful Nature I feel that I can cast 
myself, and die in peace. 

The religion of Nature, including man, of course, with all that 
he has effected in this wonderful universe, so far as Science can 
penetrate through the aeons of the past, — the religion derived 
from all this is to me soul- satisfying, and to me forms the highest, 
the noblest, ideal of the Infinite Person, the soul of all, that I can 
desire ; it forms to me a religion incomparably more intelligent 
and wisely devout than the past has entertained. All the histori- 
cal religions of the world, including the Christian, differ from each 
other chiefly in degree in seeking in the supernatural for the satis- 
faction of the infinite longings of the soul. And, dear Margaret, 
I know the candor of your nature will allow me to say it to you, 
since it is true, and you will feel kindly to me when I say : It is 



88 CORRESPONDENCE ON CHRISTIANITY. 

strange to me how a woman of your intellect, of your natural in- 
dependence of thought (and in saying you I would say, also, a 
man of your son's knowledge, and ministers generally of the 
highest scientific knowledge) can believe the Bible to be other 
than a record of the best knowledge and thought of purely human 
minds, working in the way natural to all human minds, simply 
under the light and knowledge to which they had attained. And 
how you can take this record as from the mouth of God ! 
And then the God of this whole mighty universe coming to this 
speck of earth, entering into the womb of a virgin, and in due time 
emerging as a human child, to be a Mediator and Saviour of a race 
whose ancestors offended the Supreme Parent, and thus dragged 
all their posterity to perdition ! I can't help it, Margaret, but it 
is to me on a par with all the avatars of heathenism ; and the 
whole system is to me but a more civilized form of what we call 
heathenism ! 

You are too wise to be shocked : you may be pained, you may 
pity. I should not say it but in trust of your really superior intel- 
lect and your great hospitality for what you may consider great 
error. I have failed to do justice to my thought and my position ; 
but I am too tired to rewrite, and thus give more clearness and 
fulness to them. But I think you will be able to read between the 
lines. 

I should not have attempted to define my position thus far had 
you not rather given me the challenge. I know well all the argu- 
ments you can bring against me, have known them from my youth 
up, through the " bodies of divinity " I have read, and all the ser- 
mons I have heard. I do believe I am on a Rock more aged than 
yours, and deep as the foundations of eternity. I am at peace ; 
and my religion is to me the soul of my life, permeated with an 
enthusiasm such as I never felt under the influence of the faith 
into which I was born. . . . How beautiful the world is now ! 



CORRESPONDENCE ON CHRISTIANITY. 89 

What a wonderful resurrection to new life ! — God immanent in 

all! 

" O God, I can trust for the human soul! " 

Faithfully your old friend, 

Thus A. 



REV. EDWARD A. LAWRENCE TO MISS ARETHUSA HALL. 

Sing Sing, N. Y., May 23, 1889. 

My dear Miss Hall, — Your last letter to my mother, in which 
you kindly refer to me, has so much of interest in it that I have 
asked the privilege of making some response. I wish this espe- 
cially because, if I understand what you say, your Rock is our Rock, 
and, however we may have come to it, and with whatever differ- 
ences of expression and explanation, not only our Life, but our 
Faith rest in the same way upon him. 

We should, of course, at the very start grant the inadequacy 
of language to express our Faith, and the inadequacy of our 
Faith to compass the Truth. Our words miss the thought at 
which they aim, and the truth evades our definition ; yet in 
a partial and differing way each may apprehend it, and we may 
meet in the same centre. You " have no idea of the details of 
the other life," but great confidence " in its existence ; " you 
" trust that all is wisest and best, — that the Ruler of the Uni- 
verse does all things well." There we are quite at one. The 
only suggestion I find as to details is from the analogy of spirit 
and character in this beginning of life. I believe that the Eternal 
Life begins in Time, and that this beginning shapes the continuance 
and the end ; that death is not revolution, but evolution. So from 
the study of the germ here I come to anticipate certain things be- 
yond. But because of my belief in Him who does all things well, I 
am most sure of all that it will l)e better than my best imaginings. 

12 



90 CORRESPONDENCE ON CHRISTIANITY. 

That, too, seems to me the teaching of the bold Oriental imagery 
of the Bible. I have little doubt that our hopes are much alike 
in this matter. 

When you speak of the " religion of Nature," I am not sure that 
I know just what you mean. If you mean simply that wonder, awe, 
reverence, which in many souls results from the view and study of 
Nature, — in a word, the feeling which Nature inspires in us, with- 
out reference to anything to which Nature points, — I should say 
tliat was to me an unusual sense of the word, for which I should 
be more apt to use the term " religiousness." Religion seems to 
imply the relation between persons, and I like best to speak of it 
as the Life of God in the Soul of Man. The religion of Nature 
would, therefore, mean to me the religion to which Nature points, 
the personal relation which it suggests. But I think this must be 
your own meaning ; for you say " the religion derived from all this 
... to me forms the highest, the noblest, Ideal of the Infinite 
Person, the soul of all, that I can desire." If Nature, " including 
man," inspires you with faith in an Infinite Person, of whose per- 
sonality our own is but a faint reflection, then we are alike. Right 
here it is possible that our ways might divide, yet your words 
encourage me to hope not. I am accustomed to think of Nature, 
including Man, as an effect, — not exclusively, but mainly so. 
This effect suggests — I should better say reveals — God ; and that 
as something not separate or removed, but at once immanent and 
distinct. I should not care at all about the geometrical manner of 
stating His relation to Nature, — whether called transcendent or 
immanent, whether thought of as working within or without, above, 
beyond, in front, or back of all things. Every such expression is 
partial ; all taken together can but hint at the truth that He is All 
in All. But I should care very much about being able to say God 
and Nature, rather than God or Nature, as if the two were not 
simply interwoven, but identical. Some distinctness between the 



CORRESPONDENCE ON CHRISTIANITY. 91 

two is certainly necessary, in order to have any relation between 
the two. Grant sufficient distinctiveness for an actual relation- 
ship, then I think all various ways of expressing that relationship in 
a degree truthful. We may think of it as being that of the Cause 
to the Effect, or of the body to the raiment, or of the soul to the 
body, or of the life to its manifestation, or of the Ruler to the 
Universe. Each expression is partial, each helpful. 

It seems to me that you indicate the acceptance of some sucli 
relationships between God and Nature, implying their distinctness. 
You say " the Ruler of the Universe does all things well ; " you 
speak of " God immanent in all," and of the " Infinite Person, the 
Soul of all." We use exactly the same language. Do we not mean 
the same? Only one phrase causes me to doubt. Looking on 
Nature as the work and working of God, I should need to change 
one word in your sentence, " Upon the bosom of this wonderful 
Nature I feel that I can cast myself, and die in peace." I should 
put the word " God " instead of " Nature." Yet I could say, " God 
in Nature," and be well content. Of course I am here guarding 
myself against absolute Pantheism, as I would, on the other side, 
against Deism. I am merely stating the faith of pure Theism, 
though I should claim the right to term it pure Christian Theism. 
But if we have kept near together up to this point, you imply that 
here our paths diverge, and you wonder that intelligent persons 
can hold the Christian beliefs which we entertain. 

I suppose the difficulty with those who discuss these points often 
is that each side imagines the other side to hold what it does not, 
and does not understand the opinions the other does hold. 

I should be glad if I could show, at least, how closely our Chris- 
tian beliefs are connected with what you accept. 

You say : " The Religion of Nature, including Man, ... to me 
forms the highest, the noblest, Ideal of the Infinite Person, the 
soul of all that I can desire." I suppose you would not object to 



92 CORRESPONDENCE ON CHRISTIANITY. 

the expression that the Universe, or Nature, is the Revelation of 
God. Now, is it not true that tlie highest thing in the Universe, 
looked at as such a revelation, is Man ? Man is the highest revela- 
tion of God ; but the highest thing in Man is character ; and the 
highest character is righteous, forgiving, self-sacrificing Love. 
The holy life of Love is the highest revelation of God. Now, the 
Christian claim is simply this : that Jesus of Nazareth presents us 
this holy life of love, and that he is, therefore, the Revelation of 
God, the Son of God, who is Love. You may question or deny 
this claim on historical or other grounds ; but I do not see liow 
you can regard it as either superstitious, unintelligible, or unreason- 
able. We are convinced that in his life and workings Jesus is ab- 
solutely unique among the sons of men ; that he was sinless and 
morally perfect, the supreme example of history ; that he made un- 
precedented claims as to his authority, kingdom, and relations 
with God ; that he has, in accordance with those claims, exerted 
an unparalleled influence for good upon the world through eighteen 
centuries. This supremacy of character, we believe, carries with 
it a Lordship over Man and also over Nature. Being Lord of Life, 
it is not strange to us that he should be Lord over Death ; and the 
Resurrection would to us be no surprise, even did we not find it 
supported, as we believe, by irrefutable testimony. The whole 
structure rests upon the original claim of a unique, a Divine, cliar- 
acter, — the Revelation of God. As God manifests Himself in the 
Universe, so here we find Him manifest in the flesh, — " the Word 
made flesh." When you protest against the idea of "the God of 
this mighty Universe " entering into human conditions, etc., we 
ask. What else would you have ? All this simply says that in 
giving His supreme Self-Revelation in a Divine character — or, as 
I like to say, in a Divine-human life — God wrought by natural 
processes, and put His revelation into human terms. Why should 
not the holy life of Love that was to reveal God to men be born as 



CORRESPONDENCE ON CHRISTIANITY. 93 

a child, and consecrate human life by passing through its various 
conditions ? If the beauty of God is embodied in a flower, why 
not His Love in a Son of Man ? If God's Self-Revelation is to be 
localized at all, why not on " this speck of earth " as well as on 
any other speck ? What are physical dimensions to the soul? If 
humanity is God's highest work, why might He not specially mani- 
fest Himself to Humanity in a human life ? 

I have visited heathen nations, and learned something of their 
philosophies and practices, and I must say that I cannot find their 
philosophies absurd. They seem to me often as dreaming peoples 
who catch fleeting visions of what others have in waking reality. 
Their incarnations spring from the natural and, as I believe, pro- 
phetic longings of the heart to see God ; they hint of Christialiity 
as the grotesque shadows do of dawn, — only these incarnations 
are seldom either holy or historic. 

But the Bible ! You wonder that we can receive that as we do. 
This is somewhat the way in which I receive it : I believe not only 
in Jesus as the historic Man of Revelation, but in the Jews as the 
historic People of Revelation. Not as a good people ; on the con- 
trary, as stupid, perverse, wilful, but as displaying in their history 
the working of God's rule of Righteousness in a way as unique, at 
least, among all peoples as the Greeks in their display of God's 
way of Beauty. Now, the Bible is precious to me as containing 
the records of this Self-Revelation of God in History. I cannot 
help believing that its historians, psalmists, prophets, apostles, 
evangelists, produced here a sacred library that is of monumental 
and perpetual importance in the matters of religion. As a matter 
of fact it is the chief inspiration of the religious life of Christen- 
dom to-day, and lias been for centuries ; and to me the co-ordina- 
tion of its parts indicates a special design as much as the harmony 
in the cathedral of Cologne. But the great thing is the Divine 
life which is at the heart of the book, as it is at the heart of 
Christendom. 



94 CORRESPONDENCE ON CHRISTIANITY. 

What I have written seems to me the essence of the Christian 
Faith. It is, doubtless, overlaid with many errors and supersti- 
tions, but this is the saving substance ; and for this substance I do 
claim two things. First, it is not unreasonable. Let it be true or 
false, yet it is a plain, definite system of thought and faith, based 
on alleged historic events. It is nothing that is not consistent 
with the highest intelligence and the purest practice. Second, the 
character of Christ, who is Christianity, is so pure and command- 
ing, the occurrences connected with his life are so extraordinary, 
the impression he has made upon mankind is so deep and wide- 
spread, that he justly claims, as he more and more receives, the 
reverence, the imitation, the patient study of the wisest and the 
best, as well as of the worst and lowest. Interpret him as we may, 
he is in the world as one of its moving powers and ruling 
principles. As a matter of fact, I have learned to know God 
through Rim. He has shown me and mine God's Fatherhood, 
forgiveness and immanence. He has formed for me the Brother- 
hood of Man. He is my Life. I cannot define him, but he has 
defined God to me. And what is best in those I know usually 
flows from him, always conforms to him, so that they, too, become 
to me, in character, revelations of God. 

I am keenly alive to the movements of science and criticism. 
They have changed many definitions, and undermined many 
philosophies and theologies, but I do not see that they have changed 
one fact in the Christian faith. They have only swept away 
theories to bring us in closer contact with eternal realities. 

And, when I or mine go out from this life into the great Beyond, 
I tliink we have something even surer and vastly more loving to 
which to intrust ourselves than the bosom of Nature. I want no 
dearer, grander example, no closer companionship with which to 
go forth, than that of Christ. I commit myself to his guidance, 
sure that he " came irom the Father," sure that he will bring me 



CORRESPONDENCE ON CHRISTIANITY. 95 

to the Father. And as I believe that he leads many whose eyes 
are holden from seeing him, so my own confidence is that you and 
some like you, who seek God, are being led by him, and are to be 
more and more his disciples. 

I have written much at length, but it has been witli loving 
thoughts of my mother's dear friend, whose name has been one of 
our household words. You may be sure that no words of yours 
can shock us. It is only irreverence that should shock, and truth- 
seekers must speak freely together. Some day we shall surely 
" know as we are known." 

With respectful and affectionate regards, 
Yours sincerely, 

Edward A. Lawrence. 

P. S. Browning's poem, " Saul," expresses at its close what I 
take to be the Christian philosophy of the Incarnation. Are you 
familiar with it ? It is a great poem. 



MISS ARETHUSA HALL TO REV. EDWARD A. LAWRENCE. 

164 Elm Street, Northampton, May 29, 1889. 

My dear Mr. Lawrence, — Your letter of the 23d instant 
impressed me so deeply with its kindness, its candor, its broad, 
catholic spirit that I could hardly refrain from taking my pen at 
once in reply. 

Yes, I feel that we are substantially upon the same " Rock," — 
that Rock which is at the foundation of all religions, and which 
forms the basis of that sympathy of religions which should exist. 
The human soul, from its very nature, seeks after God, and is not 
satisfied till it finds something to rest upon. But this something 



96 CORRESPONDENCE ON CHRISTIANITY. 

varies according to the conditions of inheritance, education, and 
the light of science. If eacli with earnest seeking does his best, I 
don't see what more can be required. 

Now as to tlie " Religion of Nature." My terms of expression 
were not explicit, yet you very well guessed my meaning. Yet I 
think we differ in regard to the " relationship " between God and 
what is called Nature. And first, let me say, this earth, in my 
highest thought, holds but a very limited place in what I take in as 
Nature. And here let me give you, as what I am ready to accept, 
Mr. F. E. Abbot's statement at the commencement of a series of 
articles in " The New Ideal," upon " The Philosophy of Free 
Religion " : " The universe is known to us as at once infinite 
machine, infinite organism, and infinite person, — as mechanical 
in its apparent form and action, organic in its essential constitu- 
tion, and personal in its innermost being ; it is the eternally self- 
evolving and self-involving unity of the Absolute Real and the 
Absolute Ideal in God, . , . and is the Ethical Realization of the 
Infinite Divine Ideal, which reflects itself in the Finite Human 
Ideal as the sun reflects itself in the dewdrop." 

Now, this view does not make God so " distinct" from Nature as 
your thought seems to be, but as entirely within Nature, and in no 
sense outside of it, as the cause of an effect. So you see the ful- 
ness of my meaning when I said the " bosom of Nature." 
I might say the bosom of God, and express my own thought ; but 
the expression carries generally a very different sense. My aim, 
these late years, has been to find God as revealed in Nature, 
including its largest sense, and to square my life, both pliysically 
and morally, by the laws inherent in the Universe. And with this 
comes, in my spirit, the emotion of religion in its deepest, most 
reverential sense, ■ — a sense too deep for words, but one of yearning 
for union with the Infinite Ideal, and for the utmost possible attain- 
ment of the Infinite Perfection. 



CORRESPONDENCE ON CHRISTIANITY. 97 

As you say, " our patlis diverge " when we come to the founda- 
tion of our beliefs. It all turns upon this, ^whether we do or do 
not believe in the Bible as a special revelation from God. I must 
say, frankly, that I do not consider it a revelation from him, in 
any sense, differing in kind from the revelations of Nature in a 
broad sense ; and especially as given by other highest souls that 
have lived, and who, as well as the writers of the Bible, have given 
us their best thoughts. Of these latter, there have been many, 
scattered through the ages and nations ; and, at the present day, it 
seems to me that the truth-loving and truth-seeking souls, with the 
aid which advanced science gives, are more likely to arrive at divine 
knowledge than any writer of the Bible. I appreciate all the gran- 
deur and excellence of religious thought and emotion contained in 
the Bible, but consider it purely a human production. As to its 
theology or system of doctrines, I cannot consider it any authority. 
With the view of the Bible, the position of Jesus, as an autliority, 
of course stands or falls. Thus to me, he was not exceptional in 
kind from other men. In character, he may well be placed among 
the highest Sons of God that have been produced in the humair 
I cannot say that I see him to have been entirely free from the im- 
perfections of the finite. For myself, I do not feel the need of any 
one to come between me and God, any further than as helps, such as 
you and other spirits imbued with the divine may be to me. I find 
God in vegetable and in animal nature, and especially in the 
human, I know one who says he knows most of God through his 
mother ; another, who said he knew most of God through what he 
considered the exalted character of the lady whom he loved. 

I know I touch upon a most tender point with you, when I 
venture to put Jesus in the same category with purely unexcep- 
tional human beings ; but I feel that you will see that it is a 
reverence for what to me is truth, and that you have too much 
religious philosophy to be disturbed or offended by it. 

13 



98 CORRESPONDENCE ON CHRISTIANITY. 

You are true and consistent with your own thought, and I 
respect your fidelity. You can no otherwise, neither can I than I 
do. And your rare liberality and ingenuousness toward what to 
you are my errors is to me very gratifying. . . . 

With the kindest regard, 

Very sincerely yours, 

Arethusa Hall. 



REV. EDWARD A. LAWRENCE TO MISS ARETHUSA HALL. 

Sing Sing, May 30, 1889. 

My dear Miss Hall, — As I supposed, our conceptions of the 
central mystery of Life are certainly allied, our trust is the same. 
I was glad to get the clear statement you quote from Mr. Abbot. 
It certainly offers an inspiring faith. If in this eternal process of 
the universe it differentiates itself into subject and object, the way 
is thereby opened for the distinctness of which I spoke, and for the 
thought of God and Nature. The whole conception I could accept as 
one of the alternative, yet complementary, statements of which every 
one is greatly suggestive, no one nor all combined exhaustive. 
And I should like to know more of Mr. Abbot's writings. 

I am more concerned to write of the point at which our views 
take a wider divergence. I see that you understand my aim, which is 
not at all controversial or proselytizing, but solely in the interest of 
mutual understanding. It is not my care to represent " our view " 
as the true one or the only one. But I was impressed by your 
wonder that intelligent, candid people could hold to that which to 
you seems so deeply tinged with superstition, and so unreasonable. 
And I am deeply concerned to speak of the Christian Faith as that 
which is altogether reasonable and the foe of superstition, consist- 
ent not only with the purest character, but with the keenest 
intelligence. 



CORRESPONDENCE ON CHRISTIANITY. 99 

It is in regard to the Bible, 1 judge, that you wonder most at the 
Christian views. But just here I suspect that you attribute quite 
innocently, and not without some reason, views which can in no 
sense be called a part of the Christian Faith. 

The Bible is to me, indeed, the Book of Books. I believe that 
the Hebrews had, under divine appointment for their work of right- 
eousness, as marked a genius, or inspiration, as you may clioose to 
call it, for religious insight and expression, as the Greeks had for 
the insight and expression of art and philosophy. The results of 
one seem to me as absolutely unique as those of the other. I no 
more expect to see the Psalms, Job, Isaiah, John, Paul, equalled 
in their line, than Homer, Phidias, Plato, in theirs. I find much 
that is sublime and religious in other ancient sacred books, but 
nothing, as a whole, equal to these books. The Hebrews combine, 
in the most surprising way, sobriety and sublimity, the historic and 
the imaginative sense. They even present the germs of universal 
history. And this historic sense, which makes Christianity an his- 
toric religion, is amazingly lacking in all the great religious books 
of which I know. 

I do not believe the Bible to be a book of Science, either natural 
or religious. I am not concerned to defend or assert its infallibil- 
ity. And I do not see how any advance of Science is to displace 
or overtop the Bible, any more than Phidias. Science has its own 
glorious work to do for us, yet more in us, dispelling our errors. 
I do not see how it should produce aught to take the place of the 
23d Psalm, or the 139th, or of the Gospel of John. All I can say 
is that when, as a book, not of philosophy, but of religion, any- 
thing more inspiring, more humbling, comforting, transforming 
than the Bible appears, I want to know it and use it, and thank 
God for a yet grander gift to man. 

Yet, with all this, I would not in any strict sense say that I hold 
the Bible as a Revelation of God, liut rather as a record of that 



100 CORRESPONDENCE ON CHRISTIANITY. 

Eevelation. I do not think " all turns on this." The Christian 
Faith grasps the revealed character of God. Character reveals 
itself in life rather than in documents. Here, primarily in a peo- 
ple, centrally and supremely in a person. Christ is to me the Re- 
velation of God, the end in a long, self-revealing process. The 
Bible records that Eevelation. I accept it as a faithful record, and 
would be satisfied to claim for it the same degree of credit that is 
accorded to trustworthy historians. I do not turn aside to con- 
sider -the mooted questions of Higher Criticism. All I would now 
insist on is that the unhistoric character of the Bible, as a whole, 
has not been shown in any such way as to impeach the intelligence 
of those who hold to its substantial integrity, or render them liable 
to the charge of superstition. 

But, you may say, " These are your individual views. The great 
mass of Christians think differently." Is it too much to ask that 
the Christian Paith be judged, not by any individual opinions or 
sectarian views, but by the great Catholic Creeds of the Church ? 
The briefest, most common statement is the Apostles' Creed. It 
contains not one syllable or suggestion about the Bible. Nor does 
the Nicene Creed. Nor any of the Catholic Creeds, if I remember 
rightly. But they contain the Christian Faith for which we stand. 
The exigencies of the Protestant Reformation caused the later Re- 
formers to press forward the Book into a somewhat abnormal posi- 
tion, to offset the claims of the Pope. But that does not affect the 
substance of the Christian Faith, which lays hold of a Person. 

I do not quite understand what you mean when you say that you 
consider the Bible purely a human production. I should suppose that 
we should both say that nothing good is purely a human production. 
The human and divine so intermingle that I cannot separate them, 
least of all in religious art and utterance. I do not regard the 
Bible as presenting a theology or a system of doctrine any more 
than the earth presents a system of geology, or Phidias a system 



CORRESPONDENCE ON CHRISTIANITY. 101 

of art. It presents a vast number of historic and spiritual facts 
and emotions, a few fragmentary conclusions, or doctrines, as in 
Paul's writings. Mainly it presents a Life. 

And so far from believing that " with the view of the Bible the 
position of Jesus, as an authority, stands or falls," I hold just the 
reverse. The authority of Jesus, for me, determines my views of 
the Bible. Simply granting its faithful, historic character, it pre- 
sents to me Jesus. Then I judge of the Bible by him, his words, 
deeds, spirit. It is little to me apart from Christ, or except as 
viewed through Christ. With the view of Christ it is that the 
Christian Faith, and all Christian theology and views, stand or 
fall. And his authority springs, for me, not so much out of his 
relations, as from the character, the Person. 

Of him I will not say more. Our real difference would lie in 
the interpretation of Jesus. Only I should say thaf no honest, 
reverent expression of doubt concerning him should be offensive 
to a follower of his. It can only cause the longing that the doubt- 
ing Thomas may see his Lord in all his glory. 

But one point more. You do, apparently, recognize the need 
men have of " helps " to come between them and God, and refer 
to those who have known most of God through a mother or a lady- 
love. I presume you would not object to the statement that we 
know God at all only through His Revelation of Himself, and that 
the whole universe is a revelation of Him. But that which is 
highest in the Universe must most clearly and fully reveal Him. 
Surely the highest in the Universe is Man, and the highest in Man 
is Character, the highest in character Love. Just in so far, then, 
as Christ seemed to one to present or approach the perfection of 
divine character of self-sacrificing love, at once universal and par- 
ticular, would you not say that to such a one Christ presented the 
supreme Revelation of God ? that through Christ, par excellence, 
such a one knew God ? But all Christians do hold it as of the 



102 CORRESPONDENCE ON CHRISTIANITY. 

innermost essence of their faith that Christ does embody divine 
character in perfect love. To them, therefore, there would be an 
absolute need of Christ between them and God, as The Way^ the 
medmm of revelation, knowledge, communion. As he said, " He 
that hath seen me, hath seen the Father." 

May I say, in closing this long letter, that I have several times 
had this experience ? I have met those who in the course of life 
have undergone a reaction from their early views, and have sought 
rest elsewhere, finding it or not as the case may be. Those early 
views were the mechanical, exaggerated views of some sect or set 
of people from whom they had been imbibed, rather than the out- 
come of the Bible or the great creeds. Especially have they been 
mechanical views of the Bible. And ever afterwards they conceive 
of Christianity, most naturally but mistakenly, under the guise in 
which they have rejected it. Yet, first and last, it is something 
quite different from what they take it to be. Local opinions, tem- 
porary teachings, have hidden the faith of Christ from their sight, 
and they, perhaps, never see its essence as the simple, humble, 
believing heart accepts it. 

It has seemed to me that this may in some sense be your case. 
Certainly you appear to be meeting views of the Bible which I do 
not consider a part of the Christian Faith, which are not my views, 
which are in no Catholic creed. . . . 

Sincerely yours, 

Edward A. Lawrence. 



MISS ARETHUSA HALL TO REV. EDWARD A. LAWRENCE. 

164 Elm Street, Northampton, June 16, 1889. 

Dear Mr. Lawrence, — Your letter, with its clear statement of 
views and its kindly spirit, was received on the morning of the day 



CORRESPONDENCE ON CHRISTIANITY. 103 

on which your mother came to me. You can understand how fully 
that week was occupied. 

I think I understand fully your principles of faith. They are 
such as have been familiar to me from my early years. My stand- 
points are different now, but, by different paths,! think we lead up 
to the same spiritual results. I think we must each and all be 
faithful to our convictions of truth, after first seeking with our 
best powers to know what is truth. My views in regard to Jesus 
differ from yours. I do regard him as a " revelation of God," but 
in no exceptional sense as differing from other great souls that 
have appeared upon earth, and, of course, as giving him no au- 
thority, differing in kind, from that of others. And so I regard 
Christianity as only another form which the religious sentiment in 
man has taken, higher and purer, certainly, than any other, but 
not the ideally perfect which the world may be yet destined to see. 
It has had the advantage of connection with a higher civilization.' 
But as science reveals more and more of God, with the eternal 
laws of the universe, both moral and spiritual, as well as physical, 
religious views, it seems to me, must be greatly enlarged and gen- 
eralized and freed from the limitations of one globe or one man 
upon that globe. 

Mr. Abbot has a printed discourse, entitled " The God of Science " 
He has also a volume, " Scientific Theism." Both are mere frag- 
ments of a work on which he is laboring, a comprehensive, scien- 
tific philosophy which leads up to the most high and adoring 
conceptions of God as the all-pervading, immanent Life, Spirit 
Intelhgent Principle, and Person of the whole Universe. 
With appreciation of your truly catholic spirit, 
Yours sincerely, 

A. Hall. 



essay; 



HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. 

BY MISS A. HALL. 

" \ T /HAT can be done to lift our homes off the plane of mere 
V V material provision and physical drudgery, and infuse into 
them a stronger element of intellectual and moral purpose ? What 
can be done to elevate society above its present intellectual and 
moral barrenness, and make it fruitful in stimulus to mental effort 
and to higher achievements in character and life ? " 

These questions, asked in " Tlie Report of the Executive Com- 
mittee of the Free Religious Association " for 1868, are not the 
least among the topics suggested for considerate action as objects 
of the Association. The first may, indeed, claim to be the great- 
est, as lying at the foundation of all moral progress and social im- 
provement, since the influences of the home do more than any 
other in making men and women what they are. 

But here, at the outset, we are met with radical evils and dif- 
ficulties hard to overcome. We should naturally appeal to the 
heads of families, and address ourselves to them, to make homes 
what they should be. Yet here lies the first trouble. They them- 
selves have not been born rightly, nor brought up rightly ; and, as 

1 Reprinted from " The Radical " for January, 1872. 
14 



106 HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. 

in the case of original sin, run back as far as we may for a pure 
source to start with, we find the disqualification everywhere. We 
have no firm point on which to rest the working lever. We have 
few, if any, right fathers and mothers to begin with. All men 
and women have, through natural inheritance, through force of 
habit and example, so much to do for themselves individually to 
attain to their own moral ideal, and suffer so many lapses in their 
attempts, that their efforts to regulate others aright are, for this 
reason, greatly paralyzed. But, notwithstanding these great disad- 
vantages as to the starting-point, something undoubtedly can be 
effected by those just assuming the position of heads of the home ; 
though several generations alone of careful example and training 
will suffice, in any good degree, to realize the just ideal of home 
and social life. As contributing to this end, some of the more 
obvious points to which attention should be directed may be 
suggested. 

And first, let those who are to be the united head of a family 
see to it that they form a true marriage, in the highest, holiest 
sense of the term. Let not mere fancy, with scarcely knowing the 
reason why, decide a question on which so much is pending. Let 
no unworthy considerations come in for a share in the decision. 
Let love, in its purest essence, begin in an understanding sym- 
pathy of soul on subjects the highest that can be presented to 
human interest. Let ideas, rather than mere emotions, not to say 
sensations, be the basis of this sympathy. Let there be an ele- 
vated plane of thought and interest and spiritual aspiration 
stretching out into tlie infinite, and enduring as the eternities, 
where their souls shall meet and blend, ever soaring onward and 
upward in perpetual union. 

In order to secure this, the physical temperament and condition 
of each, regarded both separately and in relation to the other, 
should be carefully considered. The matter of temperament alone 



HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. 107 

may absolutely unfit persons for living together harmoniously, 
with no fault, on either side, but that of want of adaptation. And 
then, too, without a sound state of the physical system, who shall an- 
swer for the nervous irritations and little petulances that may arise 
to mar the beauty of daily life, and now and then infuse a drop 
of bitterness where sweetness alone should characterize the cup 
of existence ? And well it were if the evil stopped here, and the 
well-being of offspring were not so deeply involved. It is seri- 
ously to be questioned whether those who cannot impart sound 
constitutions of body and mind to their children have morally any 
right to become parents. What a sad comment upon human in- 
consistency and moral insensibility, that, while men are giving 
so much thought to the improvement of breeds of domestic ani- 
mals, they are so utterly obtuse and unconcerned in regard to the 
laws that have a bearing upon human progeny ! Thanks to some 
earnest and enlightened minds of the present day, books are now 
to be found which treat this subject in an instructive and dignified 
manner, and impart in a judicious way that knowledge which con- 
tributes towards the attainment of the so much needed boon, — 
that of being horn well. This subject cannot be too sacredly 
considered nor too conscientiously regarded by the agents in 
this momentous result. 

In the order of Nature it is the destiny of all to form the mar- 
riage relation, and to become parents. This is well known ; in- 
deed, it enters into the plans and purposes of parents for their 
children, as well as into those of the young folks for themselves. 
But how little does preparation for the weighty responsibilities 
which marriage implies find place in the education and training of 
sons and daughters ! If any business profession is chosen for 
them, everything is made to bear upon qualifications for success. 
The choicest advantages, not only of our own country, but of Eu- 
rope, must be sought ; while scarcely a thought is given to fitting 



108 HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. 

them for the peculiar duties of a vocation transcending all others 
in the magnitude of its results for good or for evil ; and, as a gen- 
eral thing, it is the last consideration that enters the minds of the 
parties themselves, whose chief end in life is to secure a wedded 
alliance, to prepare themselves for the duties which it brings in 
its train. 

Young men feel the necessity of making money, — which surely 
is well in its way ; they seek to make their toilets unexceptionable 
and their manners attractive ; they make themselves acquainted 
with all the characters of the novels of the day, and can speak 
glibly of the merits of all performers in opera or drama. But how 
much do they strive to store their minds with high thoughts? 
How much do they study human nature, — their own and that of 
woman ? How much do they cultivate self-control and all the 
finer elements of character which should be brought into requisi- 
tion in domestic life, and which constitute its charm ? 

Young women do still less to prepare themselves for their pro- 
spective relations and duties in life. Melancholy indeed it is to see 
how the years before marriage of most of our young ladies are 
spent. The studies of school days have generally very little prac- 
tical bearing upon their characters ; and, after leaving school, dress, 
parties, fashion, novels, and gossip often engross the greater part 
of their time until the wedding-day. And then what an avalanche 
of cares and responsibilities falls upon them, all unfitted as they 
are to meet them ! To the multiform duties of housekeeping may 
soon be added what, to their perhaps enervated physical systems, 
becomes the almost paralyzing effects of approaching maternity. 
No wonder if thus early are laid the foundations of that domestic 
unhappiness which, after they have dragged out in misery all those 
earlier years that ought to be among the best in life, results in 
what is denominated " incompatibility of temper," and is finally 
made the ground of divorce ! And of the product of such unions 



HOME. AND SOCIAL LIFE. 109 

what can be expected towards the furtherance of moral or social 
progress ? 

Yet here is the chief place to begin. It is claimed by many who 
have given great attention to the subject, and probably with wis- 
dom, that boys and girls, young men and young women, should be 
educated together ; that up to the point where each seeks out a 
professional career, or one indicated by peculiar adaptedness or 
genius, they should have the same mental training. What, then, 
are some of the most obvious studies which they should pursue in 
common to fit them for the duties and pleasures of " home and 
social life " ? 

Perhaps none on this list should stand higher than the acquisi- 
tion of knowledge pertaining to the laws which regulate the highest 
well-being of the body and the spirit. Let the structure and the 
functions of the human frame, with its laws of health, be well un- 
derstood. This, of course, will embrace the sciences of anatomy, 
physiology, and hygiene, — sciences which, in schools generally, 
are very much neglected. The consequence is, that, having no 
knowledge of the principles underlying these subjects, young peo- 
ple go on in life transgressing the inflexible laws of their being, as 
to eating, drinking, rest, exercise, recreation, exposures, and indul- 
gences, with no thought of the inevitable evils they are with such 
certainty entailing upon themselves, and with entire disbelief and 
disregard of the warnings of those who, by their own bitter experi- 
ence, if in no other way, have learned better. In this connection, 
and in a way as judicious as its sacredness claims, should be com- 
municated, as an integral part of physiological study, a knowledge 
of those divinely ordained relations of sex which exist throughout 
all departments of organized Nature. With undoubtedly right 
motives, but from altogether mistaken judgment, the attempt has 
usually been made by parents and educators studiously to withhold 
and conceal from the young all information of this kind. The 



110 HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. 

falsities and absurdities resorted to for this purpose would seem 
simply ridiculous if they did not lead to results so serious and de- 
plorable. The desire of knowledge respecting the objects of all the 
senses is spontaneous and right, and, whatever the attempts to put 
it down, it will assert itself. And in this department of legitimate 
human interest, if the efforts of the inquiring mind of the young 
are discountenanced and repelled in that direction where it would 
be proper and safe for them to receive enlightenment, they will 
naturally seek and find it in sources with which are mingled im- 
purity and debasement. Besides this moral result so much to be 
deprecated, considerations of health, of the physical condition gen- 
erally, demand that this species of information should not be 
ignored in instructions to the young ; and scientifically and wisely 
imparted, the tendency would be to purify and elevate, and to con- 
tribute in no inconsiderable degree to the ennoblement of home 
and of social life. 

Attention to the laws of mind, so far as their true philosophy 
can be understood, and also to the relations between the body and 
the mind, is of great importance in fitting for the duties of home 
and society. Prom ignorance of the principles which regulate 
the actions of the mind, how many mistakes, misunderstandings, 
and consequent bickerings, angry words and deeds, and, finally, 
estrangements, arise in families, and among those who should be 
friends ! How much irritation and discomfort are caused simply 
by an abnormal state of the brain and nerves, — a deplorable moral 
result from purely physical causes which suitable knowledge might 
have prevented, or, at least, by a proper estimate of the philosophy 
of the case, might very much ameliorate the sufferings of all 
concerned. 

Next in the order of sciences, as having a bearing upon this 
subject, it may be that no one has a greater claim to attention than 
that of chemistry, particularly in its organic and culinary depart- 



HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. Ill 

ments. A knowledge of the principles involved in these is of far 
greater practical value than is generally recognized. Much might 
be gained simply from familiarity with the laws which govern the 
evolution and application of heat. But a far greater advantage 
would result, both to health and to the sense of taste, from 
acquaintance with the laws of chemical action upon edible sub- 
stances. The fact alone that " the properties which cliaracterize 
bodies when separate are changed or destroyed by their com- 
bination," if understood, would save from many deleterious com- 
pounds that are placed upon the table. Regard also to the fact 
that the elements of substances unite only in definite proportions, 
as well as attention to the principles of fermentation, would be 
attended with a like result. It would be seen in the just appor- 
tionment of acids to alkalies, and the furnishing of such bread as 
would be free from the incipient elements of moral evil. Knowl- 
edge of the chemistry of practical domestic life would lead to 
more care as to the temperature suitable to the human body ; the 
purity of air necessary to be maintained by proper ventilation, and 
by the removal of substances which generate noxious gases ; aid 
would be given in the removal of spots and stains, in the setting of 
fading colors, and increased facility imparted in many ways in 
lightening the labors of the house and its accompaniments. 

It has been said that " a woman cannot have too much arith- 
metic." The remark has probably been called forth by the fact 
that, as a whole, women pay so little attention to the importance of 
computation. They are not apt to consider how the debt and 
credit columns stand related to each other. They do not keep 
accounts. They rush on to the procuring of what they think they 
must have, or what a false standard of respectability requires them 
to have, with no idea how the balance is to be adjusted. The 
science of values, the doctrine and practice of economy, cannot be 
overestimated in its bearing upon the welfare of the family. A 



112 HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. 

good knowledge of bookkeeping, thoroughly applied, as well as 
facility in operating with figures, on the part of woman and man, 
contributes largely to the prosperity of the home, and, through 
that, to its intellectual and moral elevation. From the principles 
of the higher mathematics, too, axioms may be learned, formulas 
obtained, and truths arrived at, which will be of service in helping 
forward the labors of the household, and in giving agreeable forms 
and proportions to the eye. 

Natural philosophy, with its laws of motion, of the operation of 
forces, of mechanical powers, pressure, resistance, etc., may be 
brought to bear in a variety of ways upon the affairs of home life. 
By a skilful use of only the saw, hammer, and screwdriver, such as 
may well be acquired by every woman, as well as man, much may 
be done towards giving an air of tidines^ and convenience. One 
gains, too, a great ascendency over the materials with which he has 
to deal by simply understanding the amount of means requisite to 
the production of any desired end. Much time, strength, and 
trouble are needlessly expended by want of knowledge on this 
point. * 

While the sciences already referred to may be claimed to hold 
the first place as to practical value in home life, it is not intended 
to intimate that acquisitions in the wide and varied fields of knowl- 
edge in other departments are not of high importance. What 
food for thought, for enthusiasm, for cheerfulness, in daily life, 
may be drawn from familiarity with the truths of natural science, 
the objects of which present themselves to the eye on every hand ! 
How much good taste, formed from acquaintance with the principles 
of drawing, painting, and music, may, even with small means, con- 
tribute to the attractiveness of home and its surroundings ! Truly 
there is no knowledge which would not bring its tribute especially 
to conversation, that much-neglected art, which might be made the 
central charm of all, and to which familiarity with languages. 



HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. 113 

history, and poetry would bring so much. And, in this general sum- 
mary, the attainment of accomplished elocution surely should not 
be omitted. When we consider the comparatively little expense of 
time and money at which this art may be acquired, it may be said 
to hold a more important rank in the list of accomplishments 
than that of music. Books are always at command, and can 
be taken to any place ; and when the sense of the writer, with 
every delicate shade of thought and sentiment, is interpreted to 
the ear so. that his very spirit in its highest states of inspiration 
communicates itself to ours, and blends with what is most cher- 
ished in our own inward being, what more can be done for us by 
any sphere of art ? And this so inexpensive, and so much within 
the reach of all ! 

But, not to go farther into details of studies most important in 
qualifying for the duties which fall upon the heads of families, 
suppose the home already established : what are some of the means 
by which " to lift it off the plane of material provision and 
physical drudgery, and infuse into it a stronger element of 
intellectual and moral purpose " ? And here, while there should 
always exist between the beads of the family union, sympathy, and 
co-operation in all things, the chief responsibility falls upon the 
wife and mother. 

Perhaps, among the failures to realize what the home should be, 
there is no one thing productive of more discomfort, annoyance, 
and trouble than that connected with servants, in those families 
dependent upon them. First of all, on the part of the mistress, is 
the want of qualification for her position. She does not understand 
the details of the different departments of her work so that she 
could perform them herself ; consequently, she is liable to be 
unreasonable in her demands. If things are not well done, 
acquainted as she is with results only, she cannot place her finger 
on the true cause of failure, and give definite instruction as to the 

15 



114 HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. 

remedy. And, worse than all, not knowing herself how practically 
to carry on the affairs of her household, she is dependent upon her 
servants, and becomes their slave. The servant well understands 
this, and puts on the airs of mistress. Besides all this, an 
antagonism grows up between the two. There is not that sense of 
kindly relationship that should subsist, and which would insure 
harmonious and concerted action. Self-interest, no less than be- 
nevolence, demands that servants should be, in a sense, adopted 
into the family ; that they should feel cared for, and their interests 
helped forward, by the superior intelligence of whose who employ 
them. Then, too, if women would do more with their own hands, 
it would help to do away with the line of distinction between the 
rich and the poor, to many so painful. At the same time it would 
contribute much towards banishing that languor and helplessness 
so prevalent among women. There is no exercise so conducive to 
the health of women as the multifarious movement of muscle 
brought into exercise by housework. Not only mothers, but 
daughters, would find their physical condition improved by taking 
a certain portion of domestic labor themselves, and thus attaining 
to greater cheerfulness, buoyancy, and relief from ennui. The 
notion that any disgrace is attached to manual labor, or that true 
refinement and delicacy do not always find their own level, is too 
weak and foolish to be allowed any consideration. As though the 
homeliest and humblest work could not be ennobled by the spirit 
in which it is done ! The fact of doing anything well, in the best 
manner, brings its own reward in exhilaration of feeling. And, to 
the mind instructed in principles, in cause and effect, in capacities 
and limitations, there is much to interest, something even to 
charm, in the simplest and most homely operations, as illustrated 
in the " Song of the Suds : " — 

" Queen of the tub, I merrily sing 
While the white foam rises high, 



HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. 115 

And sturdily wash and rinse and wring, 

And fasten the clothes to dry; 
And out in the free, fresh air they swing. 

Under the summer sky." 

Where do we often find more poetical elements than are here 
suggested ? 

Considerations connected with food stand among those of first 
importance to the welfare of the home. We pray, " Give us this 
day our daily bread ; " and in Agur's prayer he asks, " Feed me 
with food convenient for me." In agony of stomach, how often 
has this latter prayer been wrung from us ! And if, as has been 
said, " Labor is prayer," the first condition to be complied with, in 
seeking our daily bread, is bodily exercise of some kind that creates 
the need of food and prepares for its digestion. But, not to 
dwell on this point now, let us remark how little regard to health 
has a place in preparations for the table. To a great extent, this 
seems to be the last thing thought of. Witb the poor and unedu- 
cated, it may be entirely the result of ignorance ; but with the 
wealthy, and those who ought to know better, there is less extenua- 
tion of the fault, — it might, perhaps, well be said the crime. In- 
stead of making it the chief study in the daily meals to set before 
the family good, simple, wholesome, and, in the long run, more 
relishing food, the ambition is rather to bring forward rare and 
elaborate compounds, so mixed up and concentrated, so disguised 
and metamorphosed, that the sweet, pure, and natural simples of 
which they are composed can hardly be detected. That it is an 
indigestible mass does not enter into the account ; nor that variety 
of tastes is so much circumscribed by the promiscuous jumble. 
How much better for the nourishment of the body to take from 
Nature the products designed for our sustenance in the form she 
gives them to us ! And where the appetite has not become de- 
praved, how much greater the relish and zest for food when the 



116 HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. 

individual taste of a substance can be appreciated apart from all 
admixtures ! 

But the evils of this course do not stop with the poisonous effects 
produced upon the regular family, they greatly interfere with 
that social intercourse which, rightly conducted, would add such a 
charm and value to life. Instead of welcoming a friend, or friends, 
at any time to a seat at the family table, and to such table furniture 
and fare as happens to be the order of the meal, seasons of social 
intercourse, whether the visitors be of the celestial order or not, 
must conform to the proverbial idea of " angels' visits." Great and 
extraordinary culinary efforts must be made ; the spirit of the 
hostess, servants, and, more or less, of the whole family^ is chafed 
by extra exertion and solicitude. And perhaps, after all, the whole 
result is marred, and the principal actors in the scene so thrown 
off their balance, by disappointment in the results of their prepa- 
ration, as to be in no condition favorable to the reception or 
enjoyment of their guests. Or, if successful, how poor and pitiable 
the pride that seeks gratification by such a species of display, in 
which it is well if no little spice of rivalry also plays its part. And 
what a miserable compliment to visitors to place the pampering of 
the appetite so much in the foreground as to lose sight entirely of 
any valuable results in coming together ! What a mockery 
of everything that deserves the name of social enjoyrnent ! No 
wonder that more cultivated and thoughtful persons withdraw 
themselves from such gatherings, as involving a tiresome and dis- 
tasteful waste of time and attention. 

How different might be the result if people would spend more of 
their leisure in the reading of books upon which they could groiv, 
in earnest thought upon what they find put forth by others, and upon 
their own observation on what comes within the sphere of their 
notice, and then should meet to exchange and discuss ideas, with no 
note of extra culinary preparation, but subordinating the material to 



HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. 117 

the spiritual in just proportion. In tlie matter of " calls," if peo- 
ple would but express thoughts, ideas, sentiments, such as all must 
have in a degree, and which to any well-regulated mind are the 
things most dear ; instead of talking about persons, criticising, sur- 
mising, and, from a prurient curiosity, seeking to penetrate into 
the sacred arcana of their neiglibors, — what a saving from a 
worse than waste of time ! To a person of refined taste and nice 
moral sense it is truly excruciating to sit by and listen to a great 
deal of the talk, not to say gossip, that goes on at " calls." They 
hear interpretations given to doings, motives attributed to actions, 
and judgments passed upon persons, with no sufficient knowledge 
as a basis, — certainly, without information as to the interior modes 
of looking at things, which go to make up the idiosyncrasies of 
character, and within whose limits one is, in a degree, constrained 
to act. Apart from the injustice done to the neighbor by such a 
course, the injury in marring and belittling one's own soul is truly 
fearful, — a due sense of which would lead to the utmost scrutiny of 
feelings indulged in one's own breast, and to a rigid watchfulness 
over the expressions of one's own lips. 

It is stated that in England drawing clubs have been instituted, 
which are intended for the cultivation of the pencil among ladies. 
Each member produces an original drawing once a month, and 
sends it to the president of the club, who is to decide on the merits 
of each piece ; and the one who at the end of the year has sent in 
the greatest number of superior sketches is rewarded with the chief 
prize. Certain months are devoted to sketches from nature, and 
others to studies from still life and figures. Writing clubs have 
also been formed on a similar principle. Musical clubs might also 
be established to equal advantage, under regulations suited to the 
art. It is easy, at a glance, to perceive how much, in these and 
similar ways, might be done " to elevate society above its present 
intellectual and moral barrenness, and make it fruitful in stimulus 



118 HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. 

to mental effort, and to higher achievements in character and 
life." 

But to secure the leisure necessary for the more elevating pur- 
suits of life, it is absolutely imperative, not only that preparations 
for the table should be more simple, while at the same time more 
healthful and less expensive, but that there should be an entire re- 
form as to dress. To the combined influence of slavery to fashion, 
and false notions as to what constitutes respectability, may per- 
haps be traced more of the evils which mar the peace of home than 
to any other source. Tiie demand for money involved is, in this 
case, an emphatic illustration of the Scripture assertion concerning 
the love of it. It is felt in every department of living, as well as 
that of dress and costly entertainments. Elegant buildings, rich 
furniture, and splendid equipages all come into the list. And how 
many are the men who, to gratify tlieir own ambition, or the van- 
ity of their wives and daughters, toil early and late at their labors, 
and are often beguiled into expenditures they can ill afford, which 
embarrass their business, and perhaps tempt them into crime. 
Harassed, conscience-stricken, and fearful of consequences, what 
time or heart has such a man for taking home anything towards 
promoting the higher life and joy of his family ? 

That nice attention should be given to dress, so far from being 
denied, is even advocated. But what is needed among ladies, in 
i-eference to it, is more independence, more individuality, and more 
good sense. Instead of having a multitude of dresses at the same 
time, and following every new fashion got up from a restless desire 
of change, joined to efforts of fashion-mongers and dry-goods 
dealers to increase their pecuniary returns, however absurd and 
ill adapted to individual form, — if each lady would study to adopt 
a single style suited to her own figure and general bearing, one 
harmonizing gracefully with her own physical and mental attributes, 
and with due attention to tasteful results, she would at once become 



HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. 119 

emancipated from the overpowering dominion of fashion, while at 
the same time establishing a pleasing correspondence between her 
person and her character ; her clothes, the arrangement of her hair, 
and all the et ceteras of her dress being part and parcel of herself. 
This rule would not by any means prohibit a certain amount of 
ornamentation. In this Nature sets us an example. She scollops, 
fringes, ruffles, puffs, and embroiders to a great extent, but each 
individual of her production is always true to itself. The pink, the 
rose, the lily, the violet, are always found each in its own peculiar 
garb, each beautiful in its own identity. 

The great mischief of fashion in consuming so much time and 
thought that might be better employed, to say nothing of its cor- 
roding and dwarfing effects upon the better nature of its devotees, 
lies mostly in its demands for perpetual change. A suit which 
one year is made of a fabric or in a style most in vogue must be, 
the next, laid aside or entirely remodelled. Here comes in, not 
only fresh expense, but, what is worse, the wear and tear of nerve 
and temper in the ripping and altering, which must often extend 
to the whole series of garments worn in addition to those that ap- 
pear on the outside. The long must be made short, or the short 
long ; the full must be made narrow, or the narrow full, — hoops, 
of course, extended or contracted to match ; sleeves close-fitting 
or balloon-like ; over-garments varying in length from that of the 
sailor-jacket to the whole length of the dress, not to add the mul- 
tifold changes in the varying modes of trimming. What true 
woman, in looking all this fairly in the face, can fail to hang her 
head in shame, if conscious of the weakness of having been be- 
guiled into such follies ? How much more self-respect and satis- 
faction would she experience if she studied to make her dress the 
exponent of nice moral sense and artistic taste ! For, if the true 
principles of art are worthy of cultivation in any department, there 
is no reason why in the matter of dress there should not be study 



120 HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. 

to make it a fine art. The object of all art being to gratify the 
aesthetic element inherent in our nature, it would seem nowhere 
to have more legitimate scope for its exercise than in connection 
with the human body, — where mind and matter, spirit and form, 
are so closely conjoined. And it may be reckoned that among all 
the refined enjoyments of life, that of rendering human beings 
mutually attractive and pleasing in all that constitutes their indi- 
viduality stands highest in its claims. 

In its bearing upon the tranquillity of home life may be reck- 
oned the practice of gift-giving, which, from being a spontaneous 
offering of some simple or well-afforded article, has become such a 
vice at this day. Many persons are made miserable on the ap- 
proach of the Christmas holidays, of weddings or birthdays, either 
by overworking upon some gift, by expending far more than their 
means warrant, or by bitterness and chagrin because they cannot 
make a present, as they think, sufficiently costly and magnificent ; 
and the worst of it is that real kindness and good-will are not the 
prompters. It is done merely from fashion, or, as persons have 
often been heard to say, because " it is expected." And then, on 
the other hand, the receiver is often made unhappy by the obliga- 
tion imposed ; and the first thought is how a suitable offset can 
be made. It causes a blush for human nature to record that some- 
times the giving of gifts has been known to originate in the ex- 
pectation of drawing forth something valuable in return. 

Woman should especially qualify herself to be an intelligent 
nurse. It has been said, and no doubt with truth, that " a good 
nurse is more important than a doctor." At least, it may be affirmed 
that good nursing, without a doctor, does more in most cases towards 
the recovery of a patient than the doctor without the nurse. The 
mother can understand better than any outside person the tem- 
perament, habits, and idiosyncrasies of the members of her family ; 
and with the proper knowledge of nervous action and physical 



HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE, 121 

functions, she can apply simple remedies which will afford re- 
lief and leave no ill effects in their train, instead of resorting 
to the doctor for every ailment. She should also learn that 
preventio7i is the great law to be understood and applied, and 
should so order the habits of her family that they will seldom 
become ill. 

A still higher requisite in the mother of a family is that she 
should be qualified to be the educator of children. They fall natu- 
rally into her hands. By discriminating knowledge and judgment 
she can perceive what in their nature needs to be repressed and 
what developed. If guided by a wise experience, she can so mould 
their characters and enstamp principles upon them as to fit them 
for their own battle of life. She should be able judiciously to 
direct their studies, and to determine wisely in the choice of 
teachers and schools. Home influences upon the young are so 
apparent that any teacher of discrimination can readily distin- 
guish in his pupils whatever of mental or moral force has been 
brought to bear upon them in daily life. 

Every household should be so regulated as to give to each one 
every day some leisure^ to be appropriated to individual self-collec- 
tion and to improvement in the way best adapted to taste or in- 
clination. This should be set down as a thing indispensable, — 
as of more consequence to the individual, and through him or her 
to the whole family, than any other thing that could be accom- 
plished, however pressing it may seem. The trite saying that 
" duty begins at home " is nowhere more pertinent than in its ap- 
plication to one's self. It is a false estimate of morality that 
leads one to love his neighbor better than himself, for in that case 
he either does himself a wrong, — which is as criminal as to in- 
flict wrong on another, — or he throws upon others the burden 
of doing for him what he ought to do for himself, or of suffer- 
ing through what he inflicts upon himself. To secure this 

16 



122 HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. 

necessary leisure a largeness of generalization and planning is 
required. Every demand upon time must be made to hold its just 
rank. The less, throughout, must be held subordinate to the 
greater, and all in due proportion to legitimate claims. The ner- 
vousness about trifling particulars, which no one but the person 
exercised thereby would ever recognize or be the better for, must 
be overcome. It is most melancholy to witness the narrowness 
with which some housekeepers fritter away their time and temper 
and stultify their minds. They become completely eaten up with 
petty cares. As old age approaches, and their capacity for these 
avocations ceases, what stores of knowledge or ideas have they to 
fall back upon ? What to save them from insupportable ennui, 
and their friends the tedium of vain efforts to entertain them ? 
What " great thoughts," as Jean Paul suggests, " that they may 
have something to die by " ? Pitiable indeed is it to witness 
such a result of a long life ! 

Much has been written and said on the subject of " Co-operative 
Housekeeping," and it is believed that something of great value 
towards the lightening of household labor, and the consequent 
securing of more time for mental and moral progress, might in 
this way be effected, and this too without in the least encroaching 
upon the privacy of home life. If human beings were less selfish 
and self-willed, more benevolent and ingenuous, more fully per- 
meated with a sense of human brotherhood, in short, were per- 
fect, there would seem to be 'no good reason why people could not 
live in communities, — thus diminishing the expense and labor of 
separate families, giving more leisure to all, enhancing the means 
of mental and artistic culture, and giving opportunity for moral 
improvement and increased social enjoyment. It is hoped that 
humanity, in its progress, will some time arrive at a consummation 
promising so many advantages. 

The position of woman under the law which gives the income 



HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. 123 

of the family into the hands of the husband, and makes her de- 
pendent upon him for every cent of money she has, is a fruitful 
source of discontent and wrangling. It places woman in an in- 
ferior and dependent position, which it is strange she has so long 
submitted to, especially as a large share of the pecuniary gains of 
the estate is often debtor to her labor and good management, and, 
morally, could be claimed as her own, to be used and disposed of 
as she should see fit. Many a wrong and injustice does she suffer 
which wears upon her finer sensibilities by the legal position of her 
husband as lord and master. These and other considerations 
seem to justify woman in claiming a right to share with man in 
the making of laws by which they both shall be governed. And 
it is believed that when this old relic of barbarism, which had its 
origin purely in superior physical force, is done away with, and 
woman is allowed to stand, in comparison with man, upon the 
merits of her own intellect and her own capacity of action, that 
man will come to estimate himself more justly, and to stand higher 
in the scale of being, as well as woman. 

We talk a great deal of our free country and our free institutions. 
The blood of thousands has been shed to secure what we call 
personal freedom. Yet how far we still are from peaceably honor- 
ing and enjoying true personal freedom in its full extent ! We are 
reminded of this in social intercourse. We experience it in the 
family. We have not yet attained to the crowning excellence of 
freedom, — that of free thought and free speech. We are limited 
in thought by public sentiment, by authority, by prejudice, and by 
our own preconceived opinions. We are limited in speech by the 
tenacity of opinion of those with whom we converse or to whom 
we speak, joined to an excitability of temper which will not bear 
opposition. Even among those most closely related to us, around 
our own hearths and at our own tables, we cannot express our 
thoughts freely, but at the risk of incurring excited retorts and 



124 HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. 

awakening contention. So that, on politics, on religion, and on 
many another subject of deepest interest to the human soul, we 
must either be silent or withhold our true views, or else suffer the 
pain of jarring words and of embittered feeling. The discovery of 
truth, wherever it may lie, and candor in listening to and weighing 
the opinions of others, is not the ruling principle. There is great 
lack of ingenuousness, of a noble generosity in this respect. And 
nowhere more than in our homes, in daily intercourse with the 
members of our own family, is reform in this particular needed. 
Nothing would tend more towards the progress and elevation of 
individuals and of society than the prevalence of that state of mind 
which would cordially recognize and respect the right of free 
thought, and not only patiently, but cheerfully, acquiesce in the 
free utterance of honest convictions. 

In this connection, politeness may be named as a habit to be 
studiously cultivated. This, in its highest sense, may be con- 
sidered as the acme of all ethics, if not the crowning grace of all 
religion. It embraces the fullest embodiment of the " Golden 
Rule." It extends to the merest trifles. Indeed, its chief exercise 
may be found to lie in trifles, — in the thousand minute particulars 
as to words, manners, and actions, indefinable in themselves, but 
which go so far in making up the sum of daily life. It consists in 
that tender regard for the happiness of others which induces 
scrupulous care in not wounding their feelings. It is a sense of 
right carried into small things. It is delicate sensibility to the mani- 
fold shades of things, attention to which contributes so much in 
sweetening and embellishing life. It suggests mutual deference, 
especially of the less to the more experienced. It recognizes and 
honors diversities in age, gifts, acquirements, and positions. It 
does not allow the exercise of jealousy, envy, prejudice, or selfish- 
ness. It gracefully bows to the highest wisdom, in whomever 
found. It is more resplendent when seen in the manners of the 



HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. 125 

prince towards the peasant than in the most profound reverences 
before the monarch on his throne. 

The following description of the home of Gerrit Smith presents 
a beautiful picture of what the home should be : — 

" One breathing the affluence of wealth without a touch of its insolence, 
characterized by refinement and the highest culture, yet free from the 
impertinence of display. Plainness of attire, simplicity of manner, 
absolute sincerit}", and an all-pervading spirit of love, characterize the 
family and give tone to the home, — a home free from press and huny 
and confusion, where differences of opinion are expressed without 
irritation, where the individual is respected, where the younger members 
of the family are reverent and the older ones considerate, where all are 
mindful of the interests of each, and each is thoughtful for all. A home 
where, after almost fifty 3'ears of wedded life, husband and wife are still 
lovers, still mindful of the graceful amenities, the loving observances, 
that made beautiful the honeymoon." 

In conclusion, and as a summary of all that tends " to lift our 
homes off the plane of material provision and physical drudgery, 
and infuse into them a stronger element of physical and moral 
purpose," and that serves " to elevate society above its present 
intellectual and moral barrenness, and make it fruitful in stimulus 
to mental effort and to higher achievements in character and life," 
we would emphatically pronounce the word, " Religion." This 
covers the whole ground. No ramification of the domestic or 
social structure escapes its limits. It requires men to " be perfect, 
even as their Father which is in heaven is perfect." It therefore 
becomes " the effort of man to perfect himself." It stretches out 
to the Infinite in all directions ; demanding attention to the least, 
no less than to the greatest concerns. It indeed estimates nothing 
as small, nothing as insignificant. It honors every function of the 
body, and demands that its wonderful mechanism shall be kept in 
perfect order. The powers of mind are sacred in its light, and it 



126 HOME AND SOCIAL LIFE. 

imposes the duty of their most faithful development and exercise. 
It reveals itself in the book of Nature, and commands reverent 
devotion to its teacliings. The moral and social affections are all 
its own, and it requires their regulation in such manner as shall 
secure the highest well-being and happiness of each and all. Its 
mandate to all is, " Secure, with most scrupulous care, a sound 
mind in a sound body, with a sound condition of the moral 
feelings." It is universal in its essence. Its spirit is found in all 
religions, and it brings into brotherhood all nations and races. In 
the words of another, " It incukates unselfish zeal for the good of 
others ; " " love of man for man's own sake." It regards " the 
welfare of each individual soul as part and parcel of the universal 
welfare of the race," and teaches that " the individual cannot 
realize his own most private ideal unless he consecrates himself to 
universal ends." 

In home and social life, religion bears its most precious fruits. 
And when its divine principles are fully realized and acted upon, 
homes will become heavens, and social intercourse the communion 
of saints. 



FOUNDATION OF 
THE ARETHUSA HALL LECTURESHIP." 

BY MISS REBECCA L. RICHMOND. 



" The Warwick," Grand Eapids, Mich., 

April 24, 1891. 

My dear Miss Judd, — ... I have been reading of the numer- 
ous and most promising educational movements going on all over 
our country, and my thoughts have constantly reverted to the de- 
voted and efficient labors of dear Miss Hall along those lines. ' I 
know her heart has been gladdened in these later years to see how 
the golden harvests are springing up. The workers are those of 
the generation she helped to instruct, — strong, common-sense wo- 
men, purse and hand and brain and heart working together for the 
elevation of our nation ! In all the little classes of which I have 
had charge through these years since she sent me out from the 
Brooklyn Heights Seminary with my commission, her words, her 
methods, her devotion have been my inspiration. Where I cannot 
help personally, I send my dollars to encourage others. The 
King's Daughters, the Kindergartners, the trained Nurses, the 
Ministering Children, and other similar associations are busy in 
our community, and we have a Young Ladies' Seminary recently 
established at Grand Haven, thirty miles distant. There I hope 
to endow a lectureship ere long, and should be glad of the permis- 



128 "THE ARETHUSA HALL LECTURESHP." 

sion to give it the name of my most valued teacher, Arethusa Hall ; 
the lectures to be delivered by women only, on subjects pertaining 
to the development of the physical, moral, and domestic life of 
woman. Perhaps this does not well express what Miss Hall would 
like it to include, but I should like very much to have a suggestion 
from her. With dearest love, and hoping to hear some brighter 
news soon, 

Very truly yours, 

Eebecca L. Richmond. 



" The Noeris," Grand Haven, Mich., 
May 6, 189L 

My dear Friends, Miss Hall and Miss Judd, — I am sitting 
in the private office of this cosey little country hotel, Miss Hall's 
pamphlet, " Home and Social Life," lying on the desk beside me: 
This pamphlet and your letter, Miss Judd, arrived on Sunday last. 
Miss Hall's message, and the printed words of her appeal to the 
young women of our country, served as an impetus and an inspira- 
tion, and I wrote at once to the principal of Akeley College that, 
Providence permitting, I should visit the school on Tuesday and 
give the girls the parlor-talk which had been solicited of me at in- 
tervals during the year, but from which 1 had shrunk, as from 
entering alone upon an untried path. The reading of Miss Hall's 
address stirred within me so many delightful and grateful recollec- 
tions of the old school-room at the Brooklyn Heights Seminary that 
I really longed to see an assembly of boarding-school girls, and tell 
them how much their present opportunities were capable of doing 
for them, if they only put themselves fully and cheerfully en rap- 
port with the spirit of the Institution. 

So I came, all my fear and diffidence having vanished as a mist. 
I met a corps of half-a-dozen young, enthusiastic, warm-hearted 



"THE ARETHUSA HALL LECTURESHIP." 129 

teachers (none over thirty years of age), and an assembly of girls 
from ten to eighteen years of age, thirty in number. The first 
class, four in number, is to graduate this year. Well, I simply 
enjoyed talking to them for half an hour, telling them first of my 
own happy boarding-school experience, and mentioning Miss Hall 
as a teacher whom all my later years have acknowledged as a true 
artist in character-building, which is the great aim of what we call 
education. I advised the girls to watch their teachers and not let 
them slight their work of elimination and development : every 
strong, symmetrical character among the women of this growing 
generation was going to count for a great deal in the future weal 
of our country, etc. 

In the course of my talk it occurred to me that, in founding the 
proposed lectureship, it might be well to make its theme " The 
Home and Our Country." What do you think of that, Miss Hall ? 
Would it not cover a broad field and open a great variety of fascin- 
ating and useful subjects for clever women speakers ? Any sug- 
gestions will be thankfully received, and the foundation will be 
accomplished as soon as I can interview the Board of Trustees on 
my return home. I am so glad I am able to accomplish this while 
I have your advice and encouragement, Miss Hall ; and I trust you 
may soon recover your average health and be able to enjoy reports 
from the " Arethusa Hall Lectureship." I think my name will 
have to be entered as the first on the list of speakers ! . , . With 
ever so much love, 

Very cordially yours, 

Rebecca L. Richmond. 
17 



130 "THE ARETHUSA HALL LECTURESHIP." 

" The Warwick," Grand Rapids, Mich., 
June 8, 1891. 

My DEAR Miss Judd, — The " Northampton Herald," containing 
the mention of the passing on of oW dear old friend Miss Hall, 
was duly received. 

Of course the notice was not unexpected ; the pain of the part- 
ing was really over four weeks before, when I learned of her en- 
feebled condition, and the last tidings seemed rather those of a 
joyful release from a bondage which must have been so prostrating 
to her energetic, self-helpful nature. But her clear, philosophic 
spirit doubtless rose superior to tlie temporary physical obstruc- 
tions, and calmly anticipated the complete and eternal freedom 
into which she was about to enter. Through her I gained my first 
idea of the intimate relation, and close connection of the two 
worlds, and of the probability of one uninterrupted existence. 
Witliout ever having — to my remembrance — any distinctively 
religious conversations, this idea was so interwoven with all her 
instructions in the Brooklyn Heights Seminary that thoughtful 
minds could not miss being influenced by it. 

I am so thankful for that chance meeting with Mr. Jewett which 
incited me to communicate to Miss Hall the project I had in hand ; 
for, had I waited until its consummation, she would have gone 
hence ere I had the satisfaction of letting her know the apprecia- 
tion in which I still hold the faitlifulness with which she guided 
my girlhood. Bishop Gillespie has accepted most gratefully the 
endowment for the Arethusa Hall Lectureship, and, as soon as it is 
put in proper shape officially by the School Board, I will communi- 
cate with you. 

I can imagine how very lonely for a time will be your pretty 
little home without that intimate companionship, and please be 
assured of my and my mother's heartfelt sympathy, 

Affectionately, 
• Rebecca L. Richmond. 



"THE ARETHUSA HALL LECTURESHIP." 131 

" The WARWicii," Grand Rapids, Mich., 
Jan. 19, 1892. 

My dear Miss Judd, — . . •. The precious memento of our good 
friend Miss Hall arrived the day following my sending the paper 
to you. "Madame Swetchine's Biography " I shall prize as being 
one of the books dear to Miss Hall, as being the story of a conse- 
crated life, and as being so specially interesting at present in the 
light of Russian prominence and Russian problems. How Miss 
Hall loved to philosophize upon life and history ! I am so reminded 
of her method of instruction in the " University Extension " course 
of lectures in our city. She was a leader, and a quarter of a cen- 
tury in the van. 

Anything found in my letters which Mr. Abbot may please to 
use, as voicing the appreciation of Miss Hall's value as a teacher 
by her pupils, you are quite at liberty so to appropriate ; for I 
know my words were only representative of a feeling co-extensive 
with her graduating classes. Should any of her friends wish to 
contribute to the memorial Lectureship at Akeley Institute, it 
would be thankfully received. . . . 

Most cordially your friend, 

Rebecca L. Richmond. 



" The Warwick," Grand Rapids, Mich., 
April 21, 1892. 
Mr. Francis E. Abbot : 

My dear Sir,— Your note of reminder, expressing at the same 
time such kindly consideration for my dear mother, was received 
yesterday. . . . 

One of Arethusa Hall's most earnest aims as an educator was to 
prepare her pupils to be competent custodians of the home, and 



132 "THE ARETHUSA HALL LECTURESHIP." 

worthy mothers of American citizens. Even in my school days I 
appreciated her high standards, and felt grateful for her strong, 
helpful methods. After the lapse of a quarter of a century I still 
found that Miss Hall's characteristics as a teacher compared favor- 
ably with the best modern examples. So when, in April, 1891, 
the desire and the ability came to me to erect to my old teacher 
(then living) a lasting tribute of admiration, gratitude, and affec- 
tion, I felt it could not be better done than in the endowment of a 
lectureship, in a young ladies' seminary, which should embody and 
disseminate some of the leading principles which inspired her 
life-work. 

The opportunity lay at my own door in connection with the 
Akeley Institute of Grand Haven, Mich,, a school only three 
years incorporated, but full of promise. My offer was thankfully 
accepted by the trustees of the institution ; and before Miss Hall's 
death I had the pleasure of announcing to her the establishment of 
a lectureship named for her and entitled, " The Home and Our 
Country," — its object the promotion of education along such lines 
as shall tend to develop the highest type of domesticity and pa- 
triotism. The endowment began with the small sum of five hun- 
dred dollars, which this year I have been able to increase to fifteen 
hundred, invested in ten per cent funds. I shall add to it as I am 
able, and it is open, of course, to contributions from others of 
Miss Hall's friends. . . . 

Very cordially yours, 

Rebecca L. Richmond. 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 



FROM JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 

Newburtpokt, 2 Mo. 17, 1892. 
Rev. Francis E. Abbot : 

Dear Friend, — John G. Whittier, who is very slowly recover- 
ing from a severe attack of illness, desires me to thank thee for 
thy kind letter of 15th instant, and to say that he recently received 
a similar request from Margaret Woods Lawrence, of Baltimore, 
relating to a Memorial of the late Arethusa Hall, and dictated a 
reply, giving in brief his recollections of his old teacher, which he 
supposed would be forwarded to thee, and is unable to account for 
the delay. 

With kindest regards of J. G. W., 

Thine very truly, 

Gertrude W. Cartland. 

[Almost simultaneously with the above, Mrs. Lawrence sent the following 
tribute from the aged poet, enclosed in a letter : — ] 

It was while Miss Hall was teaching in the academy in Haver- 
hill that John G. Whittier was one of her pupils. In reply to 
recent inquiries, he writes : " I have most pleasant recollections of 
my old teacher, Arethusa Hall. She was one who, in an eminent 
degree, won the respect and affection of her pupils, and was thus 



134 TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 

enabled to exert a most salutary injQuence over them. Always 
earnest and faithful in the work she loved, she could but inspire 
others with a similar earnestness, and the school owed much of its 
success and usefulness to her labors." 



FROM THEODORE D. WELD. 

[Mrs. Lawrence sent also this tribute, as eloquent as it is brief, from the 
aged philanthropist and reformer : — ] 

I CANNOT begin to express the power of the impressions made 
upon me by my interviews with Arethusa Hall several years ago. 
They were just such interviews as best served to reveal herself, — 
her utterly unselfish nature, impelling her to be, do, dare, bear, 
and forbear for others, — to be eyes to the blind, ears to the deaf, 
and a tongue to the dumb, — that made her whole life one of 
sympathy with all suffering. 



FROM MR8. MARGARET WOODS LAWRENCE. 

Baltimore, Jan. 18, 1892. 

Dear Mr. Abbot, — You ask me to give you my recollections of 
our friend Arethusa Hall. These recollections, running back more 
than fifty years, so throng upon me that I scarcely know how to 
begin. 

My first glimpse of " Thusa" was in 1837, through a parsonage 
window. While connected with Gorham Seminary, I received a 
letter from my dear friends, Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Chapin, telling me 
that they were to leave Westhampton, which had been their home 
for many years, and to enter upon missionary work in Canada. I 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 135 

could not let them go without seeing them once more, so I found 
my way to Boston, where I took the slow, plodding stage-coach to 
Northampton, and, reaching there after dusk, hired a man to drive 
me out to Westhampton. We inquired the way to the parsonage, 
and then, letting him into my secret of wishing to surprise my 
friends, I asked him to drive slowly, and to help me alight in the 
middle of the road. I softly walked to a window whose blinds were 
open, and by the mingled fire and lamp-light I took out my purse, 
and managing to make the change, carried it to the man, charging 
him to drive away as carefully as he had come. Then I went back 
and took the liberty to stand there and gaze through the window. 
I think Mr. Chapin was seated, wliile Mrs. Chapin flitted to and fro. 
By the fireside sat a tall, dignified young woman in mourning 
attire. I had heard so much of " Thusa " that I instantly divined 
it must be she, and lingered a little longer to study her. Then, 
without ring or rap, I softly opened the obstructing doors and 
glided in. Instantly followed the exclamations, " Why, Mar- 
garet ! " " Why, little Woods ! " with loving embraces and all the 
excitement of a warm welcome that I could have desired. 

The bands of friendship between the two strangers, who Mrs. 
Chapin used to affirm were "as unlike as a fish and a bird," — 
though which was which she never said, — these bands were 
instantly knit, and from that moment, to Arethusa's last day on 
earth, were never loosened. 

All through that first long night we slept, or rather ivahed, 
together and talked as girls will do. She told me of her early 
life and of her friend Catherine, for whom lier love was a veri- 
table passion. This friend's recent death had taken deep hold of 
her, and she was arrayed in black as a symbol of her grief. In 
her later life, however, she discarded all such symbols. 

In those few days that we passed under the same roof, we came 
to know each other as intimately as if our acquaintance had been 



136 TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 

that of years instead of hours. When we separated, it was as old 
friends, and long letters were frequently exchanged between us. 
On the occasion of my marriage, she passed some weeks with me, 
becoming acquainted with my bridesmaid, Louisa Payson, and our 
best man, Rev. Alonzo Gray. This acquaintance led, some years 
later, to her being associated with Mr. Gray in the establishment 
of Brooklyn Heights Seminary, where she remained some years as 
lady principal. 

When I first knew Miss Hall, she was a member of the Edwards 
Church, Northampton, and it was a great sorrow to her when her 
beloved kinsman, Sylvester Judd, went into the Unitarian Church. 
It was not very long, however, before she followed him there ; and 
as the years went on, the difference in our religious views widened. 
Never, however, for a single moment did this lead to any jar in 
our friendship. All along through the years, to the close of her 
life, I found her an earnest, single-hearted seeker after truth, a 
conscientious, noble, unselfish woman, with high ideals and lofty 
aims. However she might philosophize, few lives were richer in 
Christian fruit. " A juster, more upright person I never knew," 
writes one of her long-time friends. 

At first our correspondence was frequent, but, as the cares of life 
encroached on us both, it grew less so. Yet, however brief, her 
letters always had the old, true ring. In trial and in affliction, 
I never failed to receive from her sympathy, consolation, and 
strength. 

It was early in the thirties that Miss Hall was a teacher in 
Portsmouth, N. H., and boarded for several months in the same 
family with Rev. Dr. A. P. Peabody, then pastor of the Unitarian 
Church in that place. Dr. Peabod}' writes : — 

" I remember Miss Hall as distinctly as if I had seen her yester- 
day. She had every token of superior culture, conversed on the 
literary subjects then before the minds of educated people with 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 137 

more tlian intelligence, — with keen discernment, and with the 
warmest interest, — and was a great favorite with the circle with 
wliich I was specially intimate. Her religious convictions were 
strong and pronounced. We boarded in a family of superior 
intelligence and standing, belonging to the Episcopal Church, and 
there was a great deal of friendly discussion among us as to our 
respective theological positions. Miss Hall was thoroughly versed 
in the polemics of her denomination and time, and held her own 
in all our passages of arms. But my cherished remembrance of 
her is of her sincere and constant friendship, her uniform kindness, 
and the happiness that came to me from my constant association 
with her for months." 

Miss Hall was one in whom all who knew her placed the most 
implicit confidence ; she never disappointed them. In 1842, Mr. 
William Caldwell, of Newburyport, going to Andover for study, 
and (to use his own words), " as a mere boy and homesick among 
strangers," boarded for many weeks in the same family with our 
friend. He writes of her in the warmest terms, " of her great 
kindness, of our long friendship, how like an Egeria she was to me 
in those early days, how sweet an influence she has had on my 
whole life, leading me by her sympathy and unerring taste into 
high and beautiful paths! What a rare nature she had, — faith- 
ful, loving, youthful to the very last ! " 

The change that was going on in Miss Hall's religious views is 
indicated in the following extracts from a letter she wrote me in 
1853 : " I trust your mind is sufficiently expanded to take the 
philosophy of religion, or speculative theology, for one thing, and the 
simple religion of the heart for quite another, and not be much 
troubled if your philosophy and that of others does not agree, if so 
be the simple principles of duty to God, and the practice of Christ's 
precepts, are found in common. Believe me, when we wake up in 
the spirit world, we shall not be all Orthodox, or all Umtarian,ov all 

18 



138 TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 

anything else of sect^ but shall all unite on tlie simple basis of love, 
which is the law and the prophets. I don't believe much of any- 
thing but to love God with all the heart, and our neighbor as 
ourselves." 

During Miss Hall's connection with Brooklyn Heights Seminary, 
she attended the Unitarian church over which Rev. Samuel Long- 
fellow was pastor, the church being dedicated in 1858. Mr. Long- 
fellow, in response to my inquiry, writes : " My acquaintance with 
Miss Hall gave me much pleasure and interest. I saw her often 
during my residence in Brooklyn, and held her in high esteem for 
her intelligence, her cultivated literary tastes, her well-balanced 
mind, her deep interest in thoughtful matters, her strong sympathy 
in the broad and advanced ideas of the time. With a simple creed, 
open ever to new light, she had a genuinely religious nature. 
After leaving Brooklyn in 1860, I met her very seldom, but found 
her ever the same." 

There was an unusual symmetry and rounded-out-ness in Thusa's 
character. Extremely practical, yet full of sentiment, keenly 
sensitive, yet thoroughly self-controlled, she could with ease cut 
and fit a dress, discuss abstruse metapljysics, make bread and 
cake, conduct a seminary, or write an article or a book. Of the 
latter, her " Manual of Morals," her translation of Pascal's 
" Thoughts," the "Life of Sylvester Judd," and, as late as 1883, her 
translation from the " Revue des Deux Mondes " of " Rationalism 
in the United States," speak for themselves. She was remarkably 
orderly and systematic. If in her younger days there seemed a 
suggestion of primness, this all passed away as she grew older. 
Indeed, increasing years gave increasing mellowness to her manner 
as well as her character. 

Miss Hall had an instinctive sense as to the fitness of things, so 
that her friends relied much on her judgment, looking to her for 
counsel on all sorts of matters. As one of them remarked, " she 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 139 

was the guiding star of the family." Youthful in her feelings and 
full of physical and mental vigor, she had a peculiarly keen enjoy- 
ment of life, observing at one time that she should like to live five 
hundred years. 

About five or six years ago she made her last visit at Linden 
Home. Of this visit my daughter writes : " The picture of Miss 
Hall is very distinct, with her grand head, her noble bearing, and 
a gracious dignity that a queen might enyj. In my intercourse 
with her I was charmed and fascinated. She drew me out, lead- 
ing me to speak of all that interested me, and entering into every- 
thing with the sympathy of a young girl. I came to love her 
dearly. After this she wrote me occasionally, her last communi- 
cation being a characteristic note, written in her sickness, in reply 
to a letter of mine." 

It was in the latter part of May, scarcely two years before she 
passed from earth, that she wrote me of her lameness, which the 
doctors called rheumatism, but urged my visiting her in her North- 
ampton home on my way East. It was an invitation with which I 
was only too happy to comply. 

At the appointed time I found myself on the street-cars on the 
way to her house. As Thusa stood at the door waiting for her 
friend, she saw us going past, and, signalling to the driver to stop, 
she came out to meet me. That week's visit was an ideal one, — 
a veritable idyl, never to be forgotten. In her cosey little parlor 
we sat and communed together of things past, things present, and 
things to come, giving little heed to the clouds gathering in her 
horizon. She told me the story of her acquaintance with Mr. 
Abbot, and read me a number of his letters. The picture of her 
as slie was at this time is very vivid in my memory. 

Miss Hall's care for my comfort touched me greatly. Knowing 
my dread of travelling alone, she insisted on going to the station 
with me, and, taking my travelling-bag in her hands, she went her- 



140 TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 

self to the baggage-master and persuaded him to check it. How 
little did I realize as I waved my hand to her from the cars that 
it was my last sight of her on earth ! 

I never knew anything more pathetic than were her closing 
days, — the slow, steady failure of her physical powers, while she 
retained all her mental vigor. As Miss Nina, who watched so 
lovingly and faithfully beside her, wrote me : " Her mind is clear, 
and her perceptions are as keen as ever ; only it is as if she were 
hopelessly immured in a prison, with the walls closing gradu- 
ally around her." 

And she saw these walls closing ; she felt the invisible hand 
creeping slowly over her, and knew that it was ruthlessly shutting 
her out from all communication with her friends ; not the slightest 
stroke, not the most stealthy advance, was lost to her by mental 
torpor, by a dulling of her quick perceptions, which under the cir- 
cumstances would have seemed a blessing. No wonder she wrote 
to a friend, " I sit and think and think things unutterable." 

At first with much difficulty she made out to write several let- 
ters ; but the power to use her hands steadily diminished. On 
February 18 she writes me : " Even my right hand has forgot its 
cunning, and I can hardly pencil a word. Not only does the spine 
failure make me helpless, but the effect of last winter's Grippe on 
my chest is killing me. ... It must be so. The end must come, 
must come to all, — to you as well, in time. Let us not quarrel 
with the divine laws of the Universe^ in whose grand scheme we 
are involved." 

Though writing, thus painfully, with her wonted consideration 
Thusa added kind words in regard to a clipping that had been en- 
closed for her perusal. 

But even this limited consolation could not last. Slowly the 
unseen hand withdrew the pencil, and then, touching her lips, her 
speech became inarticulate. 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 141 

And thus the days dragged on. Only the dear Father who per- 
mitted such suffering comprehended its depths, and knew why it 
was best for her. 

It is a comfort to know that our friend's feelings are expressed 
in the enclosed beautiful poem, " Some Time," — a poem which 
she warmly appreciated : — 

SOME TIME. 

Some time, when all life's lessons have been learned. 

And sun and stars forevermore have set. 
The things which our weak judgments here have spurned. 

The things o'er which we grieved with lashes wet, 
Will flash before us out of Hfe's dark night, 

As stars shine most in deeper tints of blue, 
And we shall see how all God's plans were right, 

And how what seemed reproof was love most true. 

And we shall see how, while we frown and sigh, 

God's plans go on as best for yon and me, 
How, when we called, He heeded not our cry, 

Because His wisdom to the end could see ; 
And even as wise parents disallow 

Too much of sweet to craving babyhood. 
So God, perhaps, is keeping from us now 

Life's sweetest things because it seemeth good. 

And if, sometimes, commingled with life's wine, 

We find the wormwood, and rebel and shrink, 
Be sure a wiser hand than yours or mine 

Pours out this portion for our lips to drink. 
And if some friend we love is lying low, 

Where human kisses cannot reach his face, 
Oh, do not blame the loving Father so, 

But wear your sorrow with obedient grace. 



142 TRIBUTES FROM FRIEN^DS. 

And you shall shortly know that lengthened breath 

Is not the sweetest gift God sends His friend, 
And that, sometimes, the sable hall of Death 

Conceals the fairest boon His love can send. 
If we could push afar the gates of life, 

And stand within, and all God's workings see, 
We could interpret all this joy and strife, 

And for each mj'stery could find a key. 

But not to-day. Then be content, poor heart ! 

God's plans, like lilies, pure and white, unfold. 
We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart. 

Time will reveal the cal3^xes of gold. 
And if, through patient toil, we reach the land 

Where tired feet, with sandals loose, may rest, 
When we shall clearly know and understand, 

I think that we shall say, " God knew the best." 

Mat Rilet Smith. 



FROM MRS. FRANCES HALL BEACH. 

Very vivid is the recollection of my last visit in Cambridge, in 
the winter of 1889-1890, to the dear aunt who has passed from 
us. It had been my habit to pass a day with her every winter, 
and it was a great pleasure to sit and chat with her in the sunny 
room set apart for her use by the kind friends who made her 
winter home so pleasant. Flowers always stood upon the table, 
brought by loving hands ; vines encircled the room ; pressed 
leaves and ferns, pictures, little touches here and there, lent to 
the room the tasteful and attractive air that every room always 
took on when occupied by her. But at this visit I noticed with 
pain the first signs of disease and age that I had ever seen in her. 
The fresh and almost infantine complexion had become dark and 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 143 

sallow ; the form, heretofore erect and dignified, was bent over the 
cane, without which she could not move ; the lips, from which the 
sweetness had always come cleai'-cut and crisp, were drawn and 
unmanageable : but the eyes were unnaturally bright, and the 
spirit that looked from them as alert and indomitable as ever. 
Although unable to go downstairs, her time was fully occupied with 
reading, writing, knitting, and sewing. An almost feverish energy 
possessed her. " I must be doing something," she said, plain- 
tively ; and, as she liad just finished some stockings for my boys, 
she asked me if I had any more work for her. Dear hands, how 
much they had worked for me and mine ! 

As I left her, with sad forebodings, and took the long car-ride 
to town, I bethought me of some work that perhaps she could do. 
Some French books had been lent me for translation, but time 
had failed me, and for months they had lain upon my table. 
Remembering how many French books my aunt had translated, 
and how familiar she was with the language, I said to myself, 
" Perhaps she will enjoy undertaking this work ; " and I wrote to 
her about it, telling her that she could take her own time for it, 
that the translation would not be needed for some months, perhaps. 
She replied at once, saying that she should be glad to do it for me 
for love of the work. I sent her two books. In three weeks she 
returned them with the translation complete, condensed, and ready 
for use, and, as the gentleman who was to use it said, in admirable 
style. (What did she ever write that was not in admirable 
style?) This for a woman past eighty, crippled with disease 
and almost helpless, seemed to me little short of a miracle. 

I saw my aunt but once after this, — in the " Old Home " at 
Northampton. Disease had told upon her, and it was hard to look 
into the appealing eyes and maintain self-control. My husband 
and children were with me, and we made her a brief and cheerful 
visit. I was determined that nothing should disturb the serenity 



144 TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 

of what I knew would be our last hours with her. We talked of 
the future, of our plans, and in everything that concerned us she 
took the keenest and most intelligent interest. 

We finally bade her a bright good-by and were gone, when my 
little Reuel (five years old), feeling the meaning of those eyes that 
followed him, flew back, threw his arms about her neck, and gave 
her another kiss. It was the last that he would ever give or she 
receive. Soon after this she wrote significantly : " Tell Curtis I 
have solved the problem he labored at, 'Is life worth living?' 
Surely not, with no backbone, and no power of speech, and a hand 
threatening every day to refuse to hold a pen. ... I scarcely 
know myself, — so different from the person of my name I used to 
know ! How. long do you suppose it will last ? " 

¥/hat my aunt has been to me from earliest childhood it would 
not be easy for me to express. "Aunty Mamma" we called her, 
and slie seemed to combine in herself all relationships. In her 
long life slie had taken care of the children of three generations, — 
my father, myself, and my own child. Into my life she came when 
I was very young, and no one among my friends has left an im- 
pression so strong. Every summer she came from her city school 
to my country home to spend her vacation. Her coming was 
looked forward to witli delight. Everything about her was beauti- 
ful and interesting to me, — her clothes, her jewelry (the gifts of 
loving pupils), lier dainty toilet articles, her work-bag made of 
many-colored ribbons, and bric-a-brac for which she had a fancy 
many years before it became the fashionable fad. In dress she 
liked the colors that are in vogue at tlie present day. Although 
womeu of her age and generation wore garments of sombre hue 
and plain style, she loved and indulged in bright colors and youth- 
ful modes. Sometimes, to the horror of her sedate friends, a bit 
of corn-color (of which she was specially fond) would appear in 
some article of her attire. She took an interest in my wardrobe, 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 145 

and often made from her own old gowns new ones for my sister or 
me. There was nothing that she could not make with her needle. 

To fit herself for a successful teacher of Belles Lettres in a 
fashionable city school, and by her own unaided brains to acquire 
a competence, would have been enough for most women. But these 
were only a part of her achievements. There was nothing in the 
whole catalogue of woman's work that she could not do, and in the 
best possible way, from making a gown or a loaf of sponge-cake to 
writing a book. 

And there were many things that usually fall to men that she 
could do better than most men, and she made derision of the 
feeble attempts of my father or my uncle at landscape gardening, 
wherein she excelled. 

At the present day, nursing is a fine art that many women 
study ; but she had mastered it by intuition, and was ready, with 
soft, strong fingers, to apply massage, or to treat almost any 
ailment. 

French was like her mother-tongue to her, and almost all 
that I know of tlie language I learned at her knee during the sum- 
mer vacations. The care and labor and thought that she bestowed 
upon lier nieces during those vacations would have seemed like 
hard work to any one else, but she made rest and recreation of it. 

Her interest in her friends (and they were legion), the way in 
which she entered into all their concerns and made them her own, 
was something marvellous. 

To lift up and inspire, to lead up into the higher life, was her 
continual effort. The motto of Hyperion was hers : " Look not 
mournfully into the Past : it comes not back again. Wisely im- 
prove the Present : it is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy 
Future without fear, and with a manly heart." 

She has gone, — and there are none like her to come after her. 
The hills of Norwich will bring forth no more stalwart daughters 

19 



146 TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 

like unto her. But in the hearts of many kinsfolk and friends to 
whom she has been a help, an example, and an inspiration, she 
remains a cherished and blessed memory. 



FROM MRS. SARAH WALTER HALLOCK. 

MiLTON-ON-HuDSON, April 21, 1892. 
Dear Miss Judd, — Your note came to me this morning, and has 
touched me more deeply than I can express. I did not know of 
Miss Hall's death, but I have often thought of late that she might 
be no longer here, so many of her generation have left us in the 
past year. Miss Hall has been one of the influences of my whole 
life. I recall her face and voice and manner as if I had seen her 
yesterday. It is years since we met last, but the world seems 
sadder and more empty now that she has left it. No words of 
mine can do her sufficient honor, but I shall be glad to have them 
bear whatever testimony they may carry ; you are welcome to use 
the letters. That Miss Hall should care to keep them is a great 
happiness to me. When you have done with them, I should like to 
have them, to put with a letter of hers in reply to one of them. 
My daughter may value them some day. I know of two of Miss 
Hall's pupils who kept their old enthusiasm for her, — Mrs. Anna 
Olcott Commelin, of Brooklyn, and ray sister, Mrs. E. W. Cogge- 
shall, of New York. Miss Hall visited them both after-I had left 
my old home. 

Very sincerely yours, 

Sarah Walter Hallock. 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 147 

MiLTON-ON-HuDSON, Aug. 11, 1886. 

Dear Miss Hall, — Seeing your name in to-day's paper in con- 
nection with the Haverhill Reunion has brought upon me such a 
flood of memories, such a rush of old affections, as proves " it is 
not love that dies ; " and out of the fulness of the heart my pen 
speaks to you. 

Do you remember me, dear Miss Hall? lam — or was — the 
girl you knew as Sarah Walter, at the Brooklyn Heights Seminary, 
and the affection you drew from her then abides still. Little words 
of admonition and encouragement, just reproof, the high ideal and 
faithful teaching in all ways, — the grateful remembrance of these 
has gone with me through my life, rather a checkered one in some 
ways, but blessed always with truth, tenderness, and fidelity. My 
home is on the Hudson River, and I have my little round of house- 
hold cares and occupations ; but my lot has been happily cast in a 
family of readers, and the interests which books and papers bring 
into a quiet country life. Then I have my children, only two in 
number, and born after I had been married several years. They 
are, of course, a great delight to us, and an impetus as well. For 
their sake I have gone back to my old school books, especially 
Chambers's " Encyclopaedia " and my " Literary Reader," and find 
in them a keen pleasure for myself, mingled with a great regret 
for the unappreciated golden opportunities of my youth. 

Pardon me, dear Miss Hall, if I am intruding upon you ; but I 
find the spell which in the old days made me talk myself out to 
you is active still. I wish I could see you and hear the sound of 
your voice, although both are so vivid in my mind that the impulse 
to write to you was irresistible. 

Ever most sincerely yours, 

Sarah Walter Hallock. 



148 TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 

Milton-on-Hddson, Dec. 8, 

My dear Miss Hall, — Your letter gave me so much pleasure 
— I was so grateful to you for answering me at all, and so doubly- 
pleased and grateful that you should remember me so kindly and 
speak to me with your pen just as you used to — that it might seem 
unaccountable that so long a time has passed in silence since your 
letter came. To say that I have thought of you again and again, 
and yet again, goes without saying. As I told you, you are one of 
the influences of my life ; part of t/ou has gone with me all along 
my pathway, and indirectly will go on with my children. I some- 
times wonder if in this way we may have part of our immortality, 
I think a little of the school-girl awe remains, too, and I have hesi- 
tated to intrude too much or claim a share of the time which is of 
value to so many. Still, I could not let the year go by without a 
word with you, — that is my heart's impulse, you will understand. 

I have been reading your letter again, and find it is dated on the 
16th of September. That little letter I have put away among a 
few others in a private drawer of my desk, thinking that in days to 
come ray children may find them and glean from them a knowledge 
of their mother's earlier days which could come in no other way. 
How much I should like to see you ! And to have you talk to me, 
Miss Hall! 

I am a busy woman, and my life, with all its peace and under- 
lying happiness, is full of care. . . . The subjects of which you 
speak as being of such vast interest open so broad and inspiring a 
field for thought that one cannot but long to enter it, and find the 
rest which grows out of its magnitude. Two people, my father 
and yourself, more than any others I have known, have given me, 
not so much by words as by personal influence, an idea of what it 
might be to rise above the unimportant wori-ies into this higher 
intellectual and spiritual life. 

My sister Annie and myself often speak of you when we meet, 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. ^49 

and she, too, holds you always in her best memories. She is a 
much-absorbed wife and mother, but she keeps her generous nature 
as of yore. Do you remember Therese Tileston, of our class? 
She and 1 have kept up an unchangeable friendship, and often 
go into the old days of the Brooklyn Heights Seminary. 

Forgive my many words and the childish mood which has dic- 
tated them ; only remember I shall always be 

Lovingly and gratefully yours, 

Sarah Walter Hallock. 



FEOM MRS. ANNA OLCOTT COMMELIN. 

On the first day of the opening of the Brooklyn Heights Semi- 
nary, of which Professor Alonzo Gray was Principal, I was entered 
as a pupil in one of its lower grades, and I well remember my 
childish impressions of the teacher, Miss Arethusa Hall, who pre- 
sided over its highest department. In the large room, which was 
also used as chapel, memory brings back her august appearance, 
and I recall to-day the feeling of awe which her dignity of carriage 
and deportment aroused in my youthful mind. I recollect, also, as 
time went on, my dread lest, in passing through this presence- 
chamber, the creaking of my new boots might disturb its solemn 
stillness, and invade an atmosphere of isolation and absorption in 
study which seemed to surround each pupil, the result of a dis- 
cipline which had for its aim the most perfect self-control and the 
absolute surrender of each individual mind to appointed intellectual 
labor. Time passed on, however, and I became a member of the 
senior department in a junior grade, when to my former feelings 
of awe and respect were added new sensations of wonder and de- 
light as I sat at my desk, my own task neglected, and listened, 



150 TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 

spell-bound, to the recitations of the older girls, in the class of En- 
glish Literature, which Miss Hall made delightful by her own rare 
appreciation of all that was noblest in English prose and poetry, 
and a magnetic power she possessed of interesting her pupils in a 
remarkable degree. When, at length, as a member of the senior 
class, — a class which Miss Hall made the object of her especial care 
and attention, — I became a participant in its labors and pleasures, 
my respect for her admirable qualities as teacher and disciplinarian 
deepened into warm regard and affection for her as a woman, — 
a woman whose standards were lofty, intellectually and morally, 
whose aims were unworldly, and whose ideals of womanhood were 
inspiring. Her strong personal interest was felt by her pupils, — 
an interest which continued unabated throughout her entire life, — 
and made her association with them of greater value than that of 
an instructor only. In my own case, the attachment Ijegun in 
school-days was but the commencement of a long friendship, which 
grew and strengthened as the years went on. Miss Hall was the 
first to give me encouragement in writing, which has since been a 
source of interest and solace. Her criticism was as truthful and 
friendly as her praise was sincere and genuine. In a correspond- 
ence with her, which began many years ago, and was prolonged 
until a short time previous to her death, when she was able, 
physically,. to write only a few lines, — I enjoyed an intercourse 
which I prized highly, and which was always helpful and inspiring 
to me, as she kept up with the most advanced thought of the time 
and with the best books. Each letter was welcomed, not only for 
bringing me word of her own well-being, but also for an intel- 
lectual quickening, which I always received with it. Miss Hall's 
mind retained its vigor and fine powers, the last written lines from 
her pen showing no diminution of mental force or feebleness of 
age. A letter, written in 1888, lies before me now, and is remark- 
able not only for literary merit, but also for its penmanship, its 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 151 

i 

nicety, daintiness, and broad margins, which made all her letters 
attractive, and gave to them an appearance of elegance and leisure. 

Who can estimate the value and far-reaching influence of such a 
life ? Year by year, class after class of young v^^omen from Brook- 
lyn, New York, and many other places came under her especial 
care, and she gave them the best fruits of her ripe experience. 
They were " the girls " to her, and so continued to be in her inter- 
est for and in them, long after they had gone out into the world, 
and were many of them wives and mothers of families. Indeed, 
as long as siie lived, she would speak of them, with a smile, in this 
way, and use the same term familiarly in her letters. Miss Hall 
possessed an unusual memory. It was necessary only to name a 
pupil to her, in remembrance or by message, long after she had left 
her care, to see her aroused attention, and the solicitude she would 
show regarding her. This feeling was also strong in her pupils for 
her, when the course of time and other cares might have lessened 
it. It was my good fortune to have some of my schoolmates as 
friends all my life, and to meet many more pleasantly in various 
ways, and it was a common bond of sympathy and an interest whicli 
never failed, when any one of us had received tidings from our 
former teacher. Among the tributes of regard and affection for 
her, from those who were her scholars, which I have seen in rela- 
tion to this memorial, are these lines : " Miss Hall led her pupils 
into the field of literature like a general, encouraging, commanding, 
inspiring them, making them feel that retreat was dishonorable, 
failure impossible. It will take a graphic pen to sketch her 
remarkable and useful life." 

Miss Hall had an intellect broad, clear, and vigorous, and fear- 
less in its search for truth. She was absolutely sincere in her 
speech. She grappled with the problems which confront us all, and 
found no help in creeds or dogmas, but gained faith and light as 
she advanced in years. In one of her latest letters occurs this 



152 TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 

paragraph, in reference to the future life : " Le Conte's ' Evolu- 
tion in Relation to Religious Thought' I think a very helpful book 
for the present day. There is, at the Centre of Nature, basis for 
hope and trust far more sure than any Scriptures of the ages past 
can give. There I rest my faith, and it is sufficient." 

The literary work done by Miss Hall was of fine quality, and Mr. 
Abbot will be, of all her friends, the one best fitted to do it justice. 

As civilization progresses, more and more highly the sacredness 
and responsibility of the teacher's calling is estimated, so potent is 
its influence on the young at the most impressible period. Not 
long ago, in this city, a jewelled testimony from the women of 
Brooklyn was given to an honored teacher who had filled the same 
place, in Professor West's Seminary, which Miss Hall had occupied 
in the institution previously established by Professor Gray, — a 
tribute well won to a woman whose tragic death brought sorrow to 
a large circle of friends and acquaintances. Miss Hall's later and 
closing years were passed away from the scene of her former labors ; 
but, if all the women who express grateful appreciation of her 
fidelity as an instructor, affection for her, and esteem for lier char- 
acter, had attempted to do her honor, as royal testimony as was 
ever given to any teacher by her pupils would have been hers. Yet 
to me it is not unmeet that one whose life was less in material 
things than any woman whom I have ever known, should have, in 
the loyal and grateful remembrance of so many of her own sex, a 
spiritual tribute which is in keeping with her highest thought. 

My own personal sense of bereavement is very great, in tlie loss 
of my beloved teacher and friend. But for her, who ascended ever 
nobler heights in her progress here, it is well. She has escaped 
the infirmities of age, and is now enjoying the fulfilment of the 
desire she expressed to me, in the "glory of going on." 

Brooklyn, N. Y. 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 153 



FROM MISS ALICE BUTLER GARY. 

Gary Farm, Lexington, Mass., 
Sept. 7, 1892. 
Mr. F. E. Abbot: 

Dear Sir, — Mrs. Commeliii has written me that you are pre- 
paring a Memorial of Miss Hall, and would like some tributes of 
appreciation and love from her old pupils. I am only too glad to 
send you my expression of reverent affection, and wish it could be 
the result of the companionship of my mature years as well as the 
memory of the happy school days now so far away in the past. I 
have, unhappily, rarely seen her since she represented to my en- 
tlmsiastic girlhood all that was wise and noble in a teacher, and 
became the influence that more than any other shaped the course 
of my life. She was a rare woman, so absolutely self-reliant and 
strong in the security of her high standard of right thinking and 
living that she could not fail to come into very close relations with 
the young minds and hearts that looked to her for instruction 
and guidance. She was to me not only the wonderfully efficient 
teacher, but the tender, wise friend to whom I never turned in 
vain for help and counsel. 

I shall be very grateful for a copy of your Memorial, for I long 
to know more of the later years of this good woman, and hope 
that the close of her beautiful life was not shadowed by illness and 
pain, but was rather a transition to that higher plane of being 
towards which her soul so constantly aspired. Excuse these 
hasty lines out of a very busy life, and believe me 
Very truly yours, 

Alice Butler Gary. 

20 



154 TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 



FROM MRS. C. D. MORGAN. 

Wareenton, Va., Aug. 17, 1891. 

My dear Miss Judd, — I received your note last week, and a 
day or two since the bracelet came. I have never been more 
touched and gratified than to know that my dear friend and for- 
mer teacher thought of me during her last illness. I thought that 
she had passed from this life long since ; and my only regret now 
in connection with the thought of her is that I did not know that 
she was still here, and that I might have had some communica- 
tion with her. I know it is asking a great deal, but, if you can, 
will you let me know some particulars concerning her ? Was she 
not very old ? Did she retain her unusually bright intellect until 
the close of her life ? I very often think of her, and have always 
realized that to have been under her care was an inestimal)le 
privilege. She was a noble woman, and I am proud, as well as 
happy, that at the close of her beautiful, useful life she counted 
me as worthy her special remembrance. I am much indebted to 
you for transmitting to me her wishes and her gift. Will you do 
me the still further favor to let me know if this acknowledgment 
reaches you, and to tell me, if possible, a little concerning the later 
life of my dear Miss Hall ? 

Very sincerely yours, 

CD. Morgan. 



FROM MRS. IRENE A. WOODBRIDGE. 

Nantucket, Aug. 30, 1892. 

My dear Mrs. Commelin, — . . . I was very glad to hear of 
the intended Memorial to Miss Hall, and shall be most anxious to 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 155 

read it. Yet I hardly feel that I could add anything of interest. 
So many years stretch between me and those far-off school-days 
that, though she will always be to me a vivid figure, I know I 
should fail if I tried to put into words any description of her. 
I can shut my eyes and bring her before me as she sat so long 
ago on the platform of the Brooklyn Heights Seminary, stately, 
dignified, thoroughly respected by all, devotedly loved by many, 
and I would, if I could, add my little tribute to her memory ; but 
I must leave that to abler pens than mine. . . . 

Yours very truly, 

Irene A. Woodbridge. 



FROM MISS NINA JUDD. 

Augusta, April 8, 1892. 

Dear Mr. Abbot, — There is one of Miss Hall's personal char- 
acteristics that I believe has not been mentioned, and, if not too 
late, I should like to have it. This is her great love of flowers. 
She enjoyed their cultivation, and would dig and weed about them 
most faithfully, unmindful of fatigue, even in the later years of her 
life. Sweet flowers were her special delight, and all through the 
flower season she seldom failed to wear a bunch of something 
sweet, happy if it were a bit of her favorite sweet-pea or 

mignonette. . . . 

Your friend, 

Nina Judd. 



FROM FRANCIS E. ABBOT. 

To every one who will have these pages to read, it will be a cause 
of deep regret that there is not prefixed to them a portrait of Miss 



156 TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 

Hall. A carte-de-visite photograph, printed in June, 1873, is the 
only image of that gracious countenance remaining to me, except 
that which is imprinted on the tablets of memory ; and for various 
reasons it has seemed unadvisable to reproduce here a likeness 
with which, indeed, she herself was not pleased. Again and again, 
while she was spending her winters in my family, I begged her to 
have a new likeness taken by some good photographer in Boston, 
and, although she reluctantly consented, she postponed the trip 
until it was too late. Those who well knew her may perhaps not 
miss the aid of the visible picture in recalling her features ; but 
those who are to come after us can never know how marvellously 
Nature matched a noble spirit with a noble face in Arethusa 
Hall. 

Eather above than below the usual stature of woman. Miss Hall 
possessed a dignity of carriage, a stateliness of mien, an air of 
transparent and invincible self-respect, which " enforced involun- 
tary homage " in all beholders ; but there was nothing forbidding 
or repellent, nothing masculine or dismayingly " strong-minded," 
either in her appearance or in her character. Her outward man- 
ner and deportment were simply those of a commanding yet most 
winning personality, — commanding, because it visibly reflected the 
majesty of that moral law which it was her innermost nature to 
obey ; winning, because it breathed the spirit of tender pitifulness 
for all pain, eager helpfulness for all need, and admiring sympathy 
for all effort or aspiration to achieve a lofty ideal. Clear and un- 
compromising in her moral perceptions, strenuous in her demand 
that, no matter what might happen, duty should be done and abso- 
lute right obeyed, she was yet the most gentle and charitable of 
beings in her judgment of the ill-doer, believing, with Socrates, that 
no one does ill except through momentary hallucination or per- 
manent defect of knowledge, and being constitutionally incapable 
of understanding how any one could " know the right, and yet the 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 157 

wrong pursue." This was the only important point on which she 
and I could never quite agree. So strong was her own unalter- 
able purpose to do whatever right she saw, that she always failed 
to comprehend how others of an inferior moral constitution 
could know better than they acted. Hence her quick revulsion 
from evil-doing in the world never took the form of a lasting in- 
dignation against the evil-doer, but always speedily softened into 
pity for his moral ignorance, and ended in an attempt to extenu- 
ate his moral lapse by imagining some mode in which, to him and 
at the moment, evil itself might put on the false appearance of 
good. No trait of her character was more marked than this in- 
stantaneous compassion for the individual transgressor, arising out 
of her deep conviction that it was impossible to see, and yet not to 
venerate and obey, the inviolable obligation of natural moral law. 
It deprived of all austerity the inexorable and clear-eyed distinc- 
tion between right and wrong which she inherited from her Puritan 
ancestry, and made her one of the most lenient and merciful judges 
of human frailty. Doubtless it was this trait which, combined 
with her quick sympathies and strong affections, gave her so 
powerful a hold on the hearts of her pupils ; for these together 
made her one of the most lovely and most lovable of characters, 
while her abiding sense of personal dignity and the omnipresent 
influence of her rare intellectual endowments prevented the attach- 
ment of her young friends from degenerating into mere fondness. 
Foremost among these intellectual endowments was the capacity 
of comprehending principles and the incapacity of resting contented 
with a mass of details until principles were reached. It was a 
true self-knowledge that made her write in her journal, as quoted 
above : " My mind is highly philosophical ; it naturally had great 
grasping power." She used to say of herself that she possessed 
no great originality of conception, but that she did possess great 
power of appreciation and an insatiable thirst for wide and lofty 



158 TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 

generalization. If by " originality " is meant the power and the 
impulse to create a great thought-system, what she said of herself 
was true ; but, if it means the power and the impulse to struggle 
out of an inherited thought-system, seen to be wholly inadequate 
to the demands of truth, into moral and spiritual convictions in 
harmony with the facts and laws of the universe as revealed by 
modern science, then she was highly original, for this she did. In 
fact, her whole real life was lived apart from her immediate en- 
vironment, in a spiritual solitude which was yet peopled by ideas 
and ideals for which she neither found nor expected sympathy in 
ordinary society ; yet no one could be more grateful for such sym- 
pathy when she found it here and there, for the craving for intel- 
lectual and spiritual sympathy was the profoundest need of her 
nature. With it she was happy ; without it she suffered and 
starved. If it was not to be got in common life, she sought it in 
books ; and reading thoughtful books became almost her ruling 
passion. But she was a true woman for all that, and needed, de- 
spite the makeshift of books, that the thought for which she hun- 
gered should be left in no lifeless formula of words, but embodied 
in living minds. This was the secret of her profound longing, 
avowed in her journals, for intellectual society and the com- 
panionship of kindred spirits. Not that she was indisposed to 
enter into the innocent gayeties and commonplaces of every-day 
life ; on the contrary, she was fond of these in due measure, and 
shared with unaffected enjoyment all the interests and pleasures 
of the social circles in which she moved. But these alone were 
not enough to gratify the unappeasable demand of her nature for 
that higher life of the soul which lies above the level of mere con- 
ventionality, and is at home nowhere but in the pure atmosphere 
of " eternal verities." To her, knowledge of spiritual truth was 
more than meat or raiment ; and never was a human life spent in 
more earnest, more humble, more tireless search for the divine. 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 159 

Tliat she found at last what she most of all longed to find is 
shown in these inexpressibly touching words, in the last letter 
she ever wrote to me, and, I believe, the last letter she ever wrote 
at all : " I have in my heart and mind your helping words of these 
many years. I know all that can be said. I trust in Infinite 
Wisdom, be the result what it may. Those mental anxieties of 
former times have passed away. 1 have peace of spirit. But this 
bodily suffering I am too weak to bear." 

Appleton's " Cyclopgedia of American Biography " gives the fol- 
lowing brief account (not entirely accurate) of the chief points of 
Miss Hall's career : — 

" HALL, Arethusa, educator, b. in Norwich (now Hunting- 
ton), Hampshire co., Mass., 13th Oct., 1802. She had limited 
opportunities for obtaining an education, but subsequently made 
up for early deficiencies by private study. At the age of nine slie 
became a member of the family of Rev. Sylvester Judd, of West- 
hampton, Mass. She was principal of the Greenland, N. H., 
Academy in 1826, and afterwards of that at Haverhill, Mass., 
where she was the teacher of the poet Whittier. She continued 
to teach in New England schools until 1849, and in that year 
came to the Brooklyn Female Academy (now Packer Institute), and 
after two years' service was associated with Prof. Alonzo Gray in 
the Brooklyn Heights Seminary for Young Ladies, where she re- 
mained as associate principal until 1860. Failing health soon after- 
wards compelled her to retire. She published ' Thoughts of Blaise 
Pascal' (Andover, 1846); 'A Manual of Morals' (1849) ; 'The 
Literary Reader ' (Boston, 1850) ; ' Life of the Rev. Sylvester Judd ' 
(Boston, 1854) ; and ' Memorabilia of Sylvester Judd, Sr.' (printed 
privately, Northampton, 1882)." 

My personal acquaintance with Miss Hall began with a letter 
from her, dated May 24, 1868, when she was already sixty-five 



100 TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 

years of age, and a second letter, dated Dec. 10, 1869. We never 
met until Feb. 27, 1870, when she came to speak to me after 
a lecture of mine in Horticultural Hall, Boston, on " Jesus and 
Socrates in the History of Religion." In October, 1872, she visited 
my family in Toledo, Ohio, and remained about a week. When my 
family removed from Toledo to Cambridge in the summer of 1873, 
she, having no winter home of her own, urgently solicited us to 
receive her during the cold months as an inmate in our own home ; 
and ever after she spent several months of eaeli year with us, wel- 
comed, cherished, and beloved by all, until May 8, 1890, when, borne 
downstairs to the waiting carriage in the strong and tender arms of 
her nephew, she crossed our threshold with tears, never to return. 

How can I tell tlie story of this long and sacred friendship ? I 
shrink from the very thouglit. Something of what that friendship 
meant to me would be disclosed in the frequent letters that went 
to her in the months of separation ; but these I cannot bring my- 
self to lay before unknown eyes. What it meant to her, however, 
is in some small measure indicated in this terse epitome of a soul- 
revolution, written from Northampton, June 9, 1889 : " As you 
know, when I first became acquainted with you and your ideas, I 
was upset and bewildered by Herbert Spencer's ' Unknowable.' 
The foundations of my faith were wrenched away, and I was 
wretched in heart and mind. You came to me in the right 
moment. You gave reasonableness and stability to my intel- 
lectual conclusions, and rest to my heart by your kindness and 
sympathy. Since I have known you, I have arrived at a rest, a 
peace, such as I never knew before. We understood each other 
in the realms of philosophic thought and in the highest aspirations 
of spiritual life. I was at first shocked at your announcing your- 
self ' squarely outside of Christianity,' but I have come to stand as 
squarely there as yourself. Indeed, I wrote to my friend Mrs. 
Lawrence lately, who had rather challenged an avowal of my faith, 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 161 

that ' Christianity seemed to me only a more civilized heathenism,' 
as truly it does more and more, as I see how the Bible is made a 
fetich, and Jesus is given the place of the avatars in the so-called 
heathen religions. All the historical religions seem to me differing 
only in degree, proportioned to the knowledge and development of 
those who originated and upheld them." 

To Miss Hall it was a great pleasure to read aloud, while to me 
it was a great pleasure to listen ; and in the long winter evenings 
she used to read to me in my library, for hours at a time, books of 
the most varied character, pausing to discuss whatever questions 
of philosophy, of social reform, of poetry, of art, of religion, or of 
any phase of the higher life of humanity, might be suggested by 
the work from which she was reading. Often the discussion would 
go to the very depths of feeling and thought, and absorb most of 
the evening, even to eleven or twelve o'clock. These readings were 
to both of us a source of the greatest profit and enjoyment, and 
she looked forward to them eagerly during the rest of the year. 
How wide a field of literature was thus covered in the course of 
many years will appear from the following list, which I copy ver- 
batim from a manuscript left among the private papers which she 
bequeathed to me : — 

LIST OF BOOKS 

Read to Francis Ellingwood Abbot by Arethusa Hall, 

Cambridge, Mass. 

1877. 
Jan. Transcendentalism in New England. — Frothingham. 

1878. 

Feb. Les Miserables.' — Victor Hugo. 
March. Picciola. — X. B. Saintine. • 

21 



162 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 



Consuelo. — George Sand. 

The Countess of Riidolstadt. — George Sand. 

Memoir of Gen. W. F. Bartlett. — General Palfrey. 

Landolin. — Auerbach. 

Is Life worth Living? — Mallock. 

Spinoza. — Mallock. 

1879. 

The Fisher Maiden. — Bjornson. 

King Rene's Daughter. — H. Hertz. 

Life and Death of Jason. — William Morris. 

The Scarlet Letter. — Hawthorne. 

Ion. — Talfourd. 

Titan, — J. P. Richter. 

Corinne. — Mme. de Stael. 

Nadeschda. — Runeberg. 

The Laocoon. — Lessing. 

The Lad}' of the Aroostook. — Howells. 

The Neighbors. — Miss Bremer. 

Evangeline. — Longfellovt. 
" Children of the Lord's Supper. — Longfellow. 

" The Spanish Student. — Longfellow. 

" Life of S. J. Ma}'. — Mumford. 

" Life of Rev. Sylvester Judd. — A. H. 

1880. 

March. The Light of Asia. — Arnold. 

" Jane Ej're. — Miss Bronte. 

" Wilhelm Meister (not finished). — Goethe. 

" Hannah. — Miss Mulock. 

" John Halifax. — Miss Mulock. 



March. 
April. 



May. 



Jan. 



Feb. 



March. 



April. 



1881. 

Jan. Bricks without Straw. — Tourgek. 
' ' The Story of Troy. — Benjamin. 

" Adam Bede. — George Eliot. 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 1^3 

Jan. Romola. — George Eliot. 

Feb. Bleak House. — Dickens. 

March. Tale of Two Cities. — Dickens. 

The Count of Monte Cristo. — Dumas. 

April. Rasselas. — S. Johnson. 

Nov. The Heart of Midlothian. — Scott. 

Dec. Life and Times of Mme. de Stael. — Stevens. 

'' The French Revolution. — De Stael. 

1882. 

Jan. Germany. — De Stael. 
Feb. History of Civilization. — Buckle. 
April. Old Curiosity Shop. — Dickens. 
Dec. History of the Formation of the Constitution 
of the United States. — Bancroft. 

1883. 

Jan. Dr. Grimshaw's Secret. — Hawthorne. 

Feb. Caleb Williams. — Godwin. 

'^ Utopia. — Sir T. More. 

March. The Faerie Queene. — Spenser. 

" Extracts from Chaucer. 

" Extracts from Dry den. 

" Cato. ■ — Addison. 

" The Complete Angler. — Walton. 

" Queen Mab. — Shelley. 

" Lady of the Lake. — Scott. 

" Paradise Lost. — Milton. 

" The Task. — Cowper. 

" Night Thoughts (in part). — Young. 

April. Jerusalem Delivered. — Tasso. 

" Historical Plays. — Shakspere. 

iVou. Sartor Resartus. — Carlyle. 

" French Revolution. — Carlyle. 

Dec. English Literature (2 vols.). — Taine. 



164 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 



1884. 

Feb. The Divine Comedj''. — Dante. 

" The Iliad and Odyssey. — Homer. 

March, The ^neid. — Virgil. 

" The Marble Faun. — Hawthorne. 

" Blithesdale Romance. — Hawthorne. 

' ' Monaldi. — Allston. 

" Paul Felton. — Dana. 

April. Aurora Leigh. — Mrs. Browning. 

"■ Extracts from Irving. 

" Elsie Venner. — Dr. Holmes. 

1885. 

Jan. First two Books, Paradise Lost. — Milton. 

' ' Tale of Two Cities. — Dickens. 

" Silas Marner. — George Eliot. 

Feb. Origin and Destinj- of Man. — John Fiske. 

"• Life of Samuel Johnson. — Boswell. 

March. Life of Carlyle. — ■ Froude. 

April. Life of George Eliot. — Cross. 

" Our Mutual Friend. — Dickens. 

" Hard Times. — Dickens. 

May. Cricket on the Hearth. — Dickens. 

" Nathan the Wise. — Lessing. 



1886. 

Jan. The Faerie Queene. — Spenser. 
Feb. Romona, — Mrs. Jackson. 
March dii^di April. Decline and Fall of Roman Empire. — Gibbon. 
3Iay. Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains. — Miss 

MURFREE. 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 165 

1887. 

Jan. Early Letters of Carlyle. — Norton. 

" Open Secret of Carlyle's Life. — Larkin. 

" War and Peace (Part I.). — TolstoL 

" Heroes in Histor}'. — Carlyle. 

Feb. Measure for Measure. — Shakspere. 

" Life of John Sterling. — Carlyle. 

" A Winter's Tale. — Shakspere. 

" Conversations with Goethe. — Eckermann. 

"• Correspondence of Schiller and Goethe. 

March. Correspondence with a Child. — Goethe and Bettina. 

" The Piccolomini and Death of Wallenstein. — Schiller. 

" Correspondence of Carlyle and Emerson,' 

' ' Manfred. — Byron. 

" Vita Nuova. — Dante. 

" Cain, and Bride of Ab3dos. — Byron. 

' ' Essay on Man and Universal Prayer. — Pope. 

April. Comedies. — Moliere. 

" Spanish Gyps}'. — George Eliot. 

" Midsummer's Night's Dream. — Shakspere. 

" All 's Well that Ends Well. — Shakspere. 

" The Tempest. — Shakspere. 

May. As You Like It. — Shakspere. 

Dec. Memoir of Emerson. — Cabot. 

1888. 

Jan. Life and Letters of Charles Darwin. — Francis Darwin. 

" The Scarlet Letter. — Hawthorne. 

" The Marble Faun. — Hawthorne. 

Feb. Louis XL — Irving's Arrangement. 

" The Minister's Wooing. — Mrs. Stowe. 

March. The Bleak House. — Dickens. 

" Our Mutual Friend. — Dickens. 

April. Felix Holt. — George Eliot. 



166 TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 

April. Pride and Prejudice. — Miss Austen. 
" Pickwick Papers. — Dickens. 

1889. 

Jan. Twice-Told Tales. — Hawthokne. 

Feb. The American Commonwealth. — Bryce. 

March. Macanlay's Essay's. 

April. Story of an African Farm. — Olive Schreiner. 

" Essays and (some) English History. — Macaulay. 

' ' Measure for Measure. — Shakspere. " 

N^ov. ) 

j^ V History of English People. — Green. 

1890. 

Feb. History of English People. — Green. 

March. Middlemarch. — George Eliot. 

April. Tales. — Dickens. 
April. 



-»i ' >- The Faerie Queene. — Spenser. 



In all the vast range of human interests covered by these many 
works, Miss Hall's mind ever reverted to that which is most per- 
manent and universal of them all, — the development and exalta- 
tion of man's spiritual nature. In her opinion, nothing was of 
worth if it did not tend to elevate the mind to loftier conceptions 
of the moral meaning of life. From her childhood, religion was 
to her the one omnipresent fact and underlying significance of all 
human experience; and it cost her, as her secret and sacredly pri- 
vate self-communings in her journals of many years most patheti- 
cally show, unspeakable struggle and pain to work her way out 
of the original darkness into the final light, — out of inherited 
Christianity into the Free Religion which she won at last by her 
own indomitable loyalty to thought. 



TRIBUTES FROM FRIENDS. 167 

This point, I must emphasize, in simple justice to her incom- 
parable fidelity to truth. Not to a lower religion than Christianity, 
least of all to an abandonment of religion altogether, but rather to 
a religion higher, broader, deeper, at once more reasonable and 
more spiritual, because truer and freer, — that was the religious 
progress of this brave, loyal, tender, upward-looking, and upward- 
living soul. In it is mirrored the slow but sure progress of the 
universal human spirit, rising irresistibly out of the best of to-day 
into the better of to-morrow. Never was an individual soul gradu- 
ated from this school of earthly life that was better fitted, by a 
lifelong and consecrated self-surrender to the Spirit of Truth, to 
enter into the higher and sublimer opportunities of the life beyond 
the grave. Though no likeness of the noble countenance of our 
friend may be prefixed to this Memorial, which has been born out 
of the veneration, gratitude, and love of many souls, yet may we 
here, at the end, recognize the speaking portrait of her spiritual 
lineaments in the poet's unconscious prophecy of Arethusa Hall : 

" I saw her, upon nearer view, 
A Spirit, yet a Woman too ! 
A Being breathing thoughtful breath, 
A Traveller between life and death; 
The reason firm, the temperate will, 
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; 
A perfect AVoman, nobly planned, 
To warn, to comfort, and command; 
And yet a Spirit still, and bright 
With something of an angel light." 



